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MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 


Sheikh  Achmet  Haffez,  "My  Bedouin  Brother,"  the  diplomatic 
ruler   of   the   Anezeh   Bedouins. 

This  photograph  was  taken  by  the  Hon.  J.  B.  Jackson,  the 
first  American  Consul  in  Aleppo,  in  1908.  It  shows  the  dis- 
tinguished old  diplomat  with  a  beard  grown  since  our  visit  in 
1906;    it   also   reveals   the    medal   from   the   Sultan   of  Turkey. 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE 
ARAB  HORSE 


BY 

HOMER  DAVENPORT 


NEW  YORK 
B.  W.  DODGE  &  COMPANY 

1909 


Tl> 


Copyright,  1909,  by 
B.  W.  DODGE  &  COMPANY 

Registered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London 
(All  Rights  Reserved) 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


dedicated  to 
My  Daughter  Mildked 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Preface  ix 

CHAPTER 

I     An  Oregon  Arab  and  What  It  Led  to.  . . .       i 

II     Procuring  the  Irade  and  the  Start  for 

THE  Desert 9 

III  The  Sultan's  Stables 19 

IV  The  Sultan  of  Turkey 28 

V     From  Constantinople  to  Antioch 50 

VI    Antioch  to  Aleppo 61 

VII     Akmet  Haffez  and  the  War  Mare yy 

VIII     The  War  Mare  Greets  the  Desert 90 

IX  We  Feast  with  the  Anezeh  and  Become 
Better  Acquainted  —  Inspection  and 
Purchase  of  Horses 105 

X  An  Important  Ceremony  in  Which  I  Was 
One  of  the  Principals — A  Circassian 
Village,  with  a  Visit  to  the  Governor, 
and  What  Befell  Sheikh  Ali 123 

XI  As  TO  Dogs  and  as  to  One  Dog  in  Par- 
ticular     136 

XII    The    Meeting    with    Hashem    Bey,    the 

Great  Sheikh  of  the  Desert 150 

XIII  Starting  on  the  Return  Journey  and 
Some  Oriental  Bargaining — The  Begin- 
ning OF  THE  Story  of  the  Mare 167 

[ix] 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIV    Another    Present  —  Hassan    T  a  s  s  h  i  n 

Pasha  and  His  Horses 175 

XV  We  Say  Farewell  to  Akmet  Haffez  and 
Start  for  the  Coast — "The  Pride  of  the 
Euphrates"  Comes  to  Us  at  Last  and 
Meets  Her  Two  Sons 184 

XVI  What  One  May  Overlook  in  the  Ship- 
ment OF  Horses — We  Leave  the  Otto- 
man Empire  and  Enter  Essential  Part 
of  It  at  Least,  Although  Surrounded 
BY  Spies  197 

XVII  Naples  and  Some  of  the  Misfortunes 
which  Overtook  Us  There — America  at 
Last 210 

XVIII     Of   Said  Abdallah   and  His   Notions  of 

America   225 

XIX  The  Bedouin  of  the  Desert,  His  Son  and 
His  Daughter,  His  Cattle  and  the 
Stranger  That  Is  Within  His  Gates.  . .  233 

XX     The  Arab  Horse  and  His  Present  Status 

— Some  Stories  from  the  Desert 247 

XXI     Various  Importations  of  Arab  Horses.  . . .  268 


[x] 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 


Sheikh  Akmet  Haffez,  the  Diplomatic  Ruler  of 

THE  Anezeh  Bedouins Frontispiece 

His  Excellency  Chikeb   Bey,  the  Turkish   Am- 
bassador        II 

Letter  of  Chikeb  Bey i6 

Abdul  Hamid^s  Favorite  Horse 22 

The  Sultan,  Abdul  Hamid 27 

*Tt  Was  a  Rare  Treat  for  the  Diplomats  When 

We  Lined  Up  for  Admission  to  the  Palace".  ...     31 

A  Royal  Eunuch 34 

Royal  Eunuchs  Following  the  Carriages  of  the 

Princesses  37 

Abdul  Hamid  Is  Greeted  by  His  Two  Sons  at  the 

Mosque 42 

The  Sultan  Returning  from  the  Mosque 46 

Ameen  Zaytoun,  My  Interpreter 53 

One  of  Our  Escorts  at  Antioch 62 

Old  Methods  of  Travel  Giving  Way  to  New  in 

Aleppo   74 

My  Royal  Present,  Wadduda  the  War  Mare,  with 

Said  Abdalla    83 

Nazin  Pasha,  the  Governor  of  Aleppo 8/ 

Haleb,  the  Pride  of  the  Anezeh ' 91 

Our   First    Round   of   Coffee   Under   the    Great 

Sheikhas  Tent   103 

Our  Tent  Near  the  Great  Sheikh's  Tent  Among 

THE  Anezeh    107 

"Just   Out  of   Our  Tent   Squatted  This  Young 

Anezeh  Bedouin" iii 

Young  Men  of  the  Anezeh   Seeing  Their  First 

Cameras 113 

The  Method  of  Buying  a  Horse  ii!J  the  Desert 116 

[xi] 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 


A  GoMussA  Bedouin  of  the  Sabba  Anezeh ii8 

"Akmet  Haffez  Would  Join  Our  Hands  Just  Be- 
fore THE  Horse  Was  Bought" 121 

Abeyah''s  Pedigree   125 

Drinking    Sour   Sheep   and   Camel's    Milk    with 

Akmet  Haffez  127 

Sheikh  Ali  Rashid  of  the  Abo-Gomese 129 

A  Handsome  Bedouin  Boy 131 

The  Supreme  Sheikh,  Hashem  Bey 150 

The  Sheikh  of  All  Sheikhs 152 

Pedigree  of  Haleb,  the  Brown  Maeghi  Sbeyl 154 

An  Old  Warrior  of  the  Anezeh 156 

"This  Expressionless  Old  Horseman" 158 

Photographed   with   the   Great   Sheikhs  of  the 

Fedan  Anezeh   161 

Haleb's  Head 163 

Curious  Visitors  Much  Astonished  at  Watching 

Me  Sketch   168 

Hamrah,  a  Seglawie-Jedran 169 

Our  Camp  a  Few  Miles  East  of  Aleppo 173 

Euphrates,  Full  Brother  to  Hamrah 176 

MusoN,  Light  Gray  Stallion 179 

Hassan  Tasshin  Pasha,  Exiled  in  Aleppo 181 

Study  of  Muson — Still,  Listening 185 

MusoN,  the  Kehilan  Muson 191 

Brihem   Pasha    195 

"No    Horses    Were    More    Sensible    Than    These 
While    Being    Transferred    from    Steamer    to 

Barge"  212 

Transferring  a  Horse  from  Barge  to  Steamer  at 

Naples 219 

One  of  the  Young  Men  of  the  Anezeh 234 

An  Old  Bedouin  from  the  Sabba  Anezeh 235 

Camels  for  the  Royal  Daughters 243 

A  Seglawie-Jedran  of  Ibn-ed-Eddara 249 

Paring  the  Frog  of  the  Horse's  Foot  Out  Prior 

TO  Putting  On  the  Shoe 253 

Showing  the  Solid  Steel  Shoe  with  Small  Hole 
in  Center 254 


PREFACE 

This  book  has  not  been  written  with  any  idea 
that  it  will  add  to  literature.  Indeed,  my  pri- 
mary object  in  going  to  the  Syrian  desert  was 
not  to  see  things  and  then  over-describe  them  in 
a  book;  I  had  no  use  for  souvenir  spoons  or 
Turkish  rugs.  My  purpose  was  but  for  one 
thing,  and  that  was  to  obtain  Arab  mares  and 
stallions  of  absolute  purity  of  blood  that  I 
could  trace  as  coming  from  the  great  Anezeh 
tribe  of  Bedouins.  That  was  my  fixed  idea  in 
undertaking  the  journey. 

I  had  been  deeply  interested  in  the  Arab 
horse  for  many  years  before  I  really  knew  any- 
thing about  them.  Then,  when  I  thought  I 
had  begun  to  acquire  some  knowledge  of  the 
breed  I  found  that  I  was  not  learning  much. 
Information  about  them,  obtainable  in  this 
country,  was  confusing;  alleged  authorities 
contradicted  each  other  in  every  argument ;  the 
thing  to  do,  it  seemed  to  me,  was  to  go  myself 
to  the  home  of  the  Arab  horse  and  there  learn 
of  him  from  his  master,  the  Bedouin. 

[  xiii  ] 


PREFACE 

The  journey  thus  was  undertaken  also  for 
my  own  education  and  that  it  was  so  successful 
(if  I  may  be  permitted  to  say  so)  is  largely 
due  to  aid  received  from  several  influential 
quarters.  I  carried  with  me,  for  instance,  let- 
ters from  President  Roosevelt,  who,  as  a  horse- 
man, ranks  with  his  standing  as  a  man,  and 
without  which  my  errand  would  have  been 
fruitless.  From  His  Imperial  Majesty,  the 
Sultan  of  Turkey,  I  received  an  Irade,  to- 
gether with  the  courtesies  of  the  Sublime  Porte. 
In  Aleppo  I  had  the  extreme  good  fortune  to 
form  a  bond  of  true  friendship  with  the  ven- 
erable Achmet  Hafez,  himself  the  Prince  of 
all  the  Bedouins.  By  him  personally  I  was 
taken  to  the  desert  and  personally  he  interested 
himself  in  my  purchases  of  horses.  Without 
him  it  would  have  been  an  accident  if  I  had 
been  able  to  purchase  a  single  animal  of  abso- 
lute purity  of  blood.  It  was  these  unusual 
courtesies  that  brought  success  to  the  under- 
taking and  to  all  that  extended  them  a  sincere 
and  hearty  acknowledgment  is  here  made. 

Thanks  also  are  due  and  are  here  expressed 
to  Charles  Arthur  Moore,  Jr.,  and  to  the  late 
John  Henry  Thompson,  Jr.,  who  were  my 
companions  on  the  trip  and  whose  hearty  co- 

[xiv] 


PREFACE 

operation  was  an  invaluable  aid  in  achieving 
its  ends.  Acknowledgments  are  also  made  to 
the  Woman  s  Home  Companion  for  permis- 
sion to  reprint  from  its  pages  much  of  the  mat- 
ter and  many  of  the    pictures    used    in    this 

volume. 

To  repeat  again  what  has  been  said  above, 
my  journey  had  this  serious  purpose  in  view — 
that  by  a  judicious  use  of  the  pure  Arabian 
blood,  a  breed  of  horse  might  be  re-established 
as  useful  to  mankind  as  was  the  Morgan  horse 
when  it  was  at  its  greatest.  But,  I  had  to  get 
to  the  desert  before  I  could  purchase  my  horses 
and  getting  to  the  desert  under  the  circum- 
stances, proved  even  more  interesting  and  ro- 
mantic than  I  had  expected.  That  may  sound 
foolish.  In  these  days,  when  an  automobile 
honk-honks  through  the  bazaars  of  Damascus, 
and  when  a  trolley  car  clangs  under  the  old 
city  gate  over  the  pilgrim  road  to  Mecca;  when 
you  journey  most  of  the  way  to  Mecca  itself 
on  one  railway  and  when  you  travel  to  the  ruins 
of  Baalbek  on  another,  there  does  not  seem 
to  be  much  romance  left. 

But  after  you  have  been  in  the  East  for  a 
while  you  will  find,  as  I  did,  that  all  the  hustle 
and  bustle  imparted  from  the  Occident  speedily 

[XV] 


PREFACE 

become  orientalized;  there  is  always  plenty  of 
time  at  the  other  end  of  the  Mediterranean. 

It  is  always  "Bookra"  (to-morrow)  there. 
A  through  "express"  train  stops  to  allow  the 
passengers  to  see  an  exciting  fight  between  two 
fellaheen  on  a  threshing  floor ;  during  the  com- 
bat the  conductor  offers  to  you  or  accepts 
from  you  a  cigarette,  and  it  is  quite  as  often  the 
former  as  the  latter.  Imagine  the  18 -hour 
limited  slowing  up  because  two  farm  hands 
near  Palatine  Bridge  were  having  a  set-to! 
Think  of  the  Pullman  conductor  exchanging 
cigars  with  you! 

Even  in  Constantinople,  where  one  might  ex- 
pect to  find  something  of  the  energy  of  the 
West,  the  story  is  the  same.  You  walk  down 
the  gangplank  from  the  French  steamer 
moored  just  above  the  north  of  the  Golden 
Horn  and — Bookra!  Why  be  in  a  hurry?  Is 
there  not  a  Bookra?  Curiously  enough,  after 
you  have  heard  that  dinned  into  your  ears 
enough  times  you  begin  to  say  to  yourself:  "Of 
course  I  am  not  in  a  hurry.  There  is  a 
Bookra."  And  then  you  can  really  be  part  of 
the  East. 

When  you  get  back  to  America  you  realize 

[  xvi  ] 


PREFACE 

that  this  feehng  has  been  more  one  of  laziness 
and  inertia  than  of  romance.  It  has  been,  you 
are  perfectly  certain,  just  a  response  to  your 
environment.  You  are  apt  to  wonder  how 
you  ever  could  have  yielded  to  it,  but  still  you 
are  'way  sure  that  it  was  the  only  thing  you 
could  have  done  at  the  time. 

Even  now,  writing  in  Morris  Plains,  I  find 
myself  thinking  and  almost  believing  that  I 
am  again  in  the  desert.  I  smell  its  smells  and 
hear  its  sounds.  Under  the  tents  of  the 
Anezeh  my  companions  and  I  sit  in  the  evening 
silently  drinking  the  salted  coffee  and  smoking 
the  pipe  passed  around  from  hand  to  hand ;  for 
half  hours  at  a  time  no  one  speaks — we  only 
hear  the  querulous  jackals  snarling  over  a  bit 
of  offal  on  the  outskirts  of  the  camp;  once  in 
a  while  some  old  Chief  of  the  Tribe  softly  calls 
upon  Allah. 

Again  in  my  thoughts  I  renew  the  bond  of 
brotherhood  with  Achmet  Hafez  and  begin  all 
over  again  my  friendship  with  Hashim  Bey,  the 
Sheikh  of  all  the  Sheikhs  of  the  Bedouins. 

It  has  been  impossible  for  me,  therefore,  not 
to  include  in  this  book  some  of  the  romance  of 
the  desert  and  of  the  journey  to  it.     I  only 

[  xvii  ] 


PREFACE 

hope  that  the  stories  of  the  happenings  which 
interested  me  will  interest  those  who  may  read 
what  follows,  even  if  thev  are  not  horsemen. 

Homer  Davenport. 

Morris  Plains,  N.  J. 


[  xviii  ] 


My  Quest  of  the  Arab  Horse 


CHAPTER  I 

AN  OREGON  ARAB  AND  WHAT  IT  LED  TO 

The  real  story  of  my  trip  to  the  Syrian  des- 
ert begins  in  Oregon  in  1871. 

At  Christmas  time  of  that  year  I  received  a 
box  of  paints,  and  a  few  days  after,  at  the  age 
of  three  years  and  nine  months,  I  drew  an  il- 
lustration which  was  known  all  through  my 
boyhood  as  "Arabian  Horses."  I  believed 
then  that  Arabian  horses  were  spotted,  like 
leopards,  an  idea  that  I  had  evidently  obtained 
from  circuses.  However,  it  shows  the  tail  car- 
ried high,  and  this  was  a  correct  impression 
that  must  have  been  conveyed  to  me  by  my 
parents.  Indeed  the  following  letter  from  my 
father  shows  that  he  used  to  tell  me  of  Arab 
horses : 

"Silverton,  Nov.  11,  1906. 

"I  cannot  fix  the  exact  time  when  I  began  to 
tell  you  stories  of  the  Arab  and  his  horse,  but  it 

[1] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

was  when  you  were  housed  up  in  the  winter  of 
'70-'71.  All  through  the  inclement  weather 
you  had  horse  on  the  brain  and  I  pictured  to 
you  the  Arab  as  an  equestrian,  mounted  upon 
his  glorious  steed,  his  desert  born  companion 
that  shared  with  him  his  tent  and  food  and 
aspirations. 

"Although  you  were  but  three  years  and 
nine  months  old,  you  exhausted  my  store  of 
knowledge  relating  to  human  and  horse  life 
in  Arabia.  You  seemed  to  be  specially  inter- 
ested in  the  way  the  Arab  horse  carried  his 
head  and  tail ;  to  ask  if  it  was  like  'Old  John. 


5    J> 


I  only  relate  this  early  evidence  to  show  that 
this  trip  to  the  desert  was  the  realization  of  a 
boy's  dream.  Ever  since  the  drawing  of  this 
picture  of  Arab  horses,  I  have  had  in  mind 
Arab  horses,  and  I  have  always  been  easily 
stopped  on  any  street  corner,  or  crossroad,  by 
a  story  pertaining  to  the  Arab  or  his  horses, 
and  hour  after  hour  of  valuable  time  I  have 
spent  in  drawing  the  Arab  horse  or  in  talking 
about  him. 

I  must  have  been  in  my  teens,  when  a  great 
revival  of  interest  in  the  Arab  came  along  with 
the  appearance  in  Silverton,  Oregon,  of  a  can 

[2] 


AN  OREGON  ARAB 

bearing  a  label  with  a  very  beautiful  picture 
of  a  white  Arab  horse,  having  his  shin  bone 
treated  with  what  the  can  had  once  held.  That 
the  liniment  had  gone,  did  not  bother  me  at 
all.  I  carefully  removed  the  stains  on  the 
cover  of  the  can  without  soiling  the  lithograph, 
and  that  can  formed  my  only  piece  of  artistic 
furniture  for  a  number  of  years.  I  remember 
that  for  a  time  I  had  in  mind  that  I  would  keep 
the  can,  and,  in  later  life,  when  I  began  to  ac- 
cumulate artistic  treasures  I  could  build  around 
it.  But  in  1892,  when  I  was  compelled  by  rel- 
atives to  leave  Oregon  for  San  Francisco,  the 
horse  liniment  can  was  left  in  the  woodshed, 
much  against  my  will. 

In  1893,  however,  at  Chicago,  just  before  the 
opening  of  that  World's  Fair,  the  Arab  germs 
in  my  system  got  a  fresh  start.  I  was  going 
with  a  reporter  on  some  detail,  while  employed 
on  the  Chicago  Herald,  when,  on  State  Street, 
we  heard  some  weird,  queer  music.  Approach- 
ing us  wxre  some  gray  horses  slipping  and  fall- 
ing on  the  wet  pavement;  horses  that  actually 
had  grace  and  beauty  as  they  fell  and  regained 
their  feet  almost  instantaneously. 

Though  never  having  before  seen  a  horse 
with  a  speck  of  Arab  blood  in  his  veins,  I  knew 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

that  these  were  Arab  horses.  I  told  the  re- 
porter to  wait  and  I  would  be  back  in  a  minute. 
It  was  a  long  moment ;  I  followed  those  horses 
— up  one  street  and  down  another,  until  they 
finally  arrived  back  at  their  headquarters. 
Here,  with  about  eight  thousand  small  boys,  I 
was  stoj^ped  at  the  outside  gate  while  the 
horses,  with  big  sparkling  eyes  and  gracefully 
carried  tails,  pranced  in.  The  majority  of 
them  were  grays,  and  I  thought  (my  four- 
year-old  drawing  was  in  mind)  it  was  very 
strange  that  there  were  no  spotted  ones. 

During  the  next  few  days  I  thought  of  noth- 
thing  else  but  these  horses  and  dreamed  of 
nothing  else  during  the  nights.  After  a  week 
or  so  it  commenced  to  worry  me,  but  finally  the 
fair  opened,  and  after  it  had  been  running  a 
few  weeks,  this  Bedouin  camp  was  exhibited  on 
the  "JNIidway." 

In  these  days  I  drew  nothing  but  horse 
pictures,  for  I  was  on  the  Herald  for  that  pur- 
pose. I  had  been  illustrating  the  Washing- 
ton Park  races,  and  had  made  the  acquaintance 
of  Alf  and  William  Lakeland.  The  first  was 
the  famous  trainer  of  thoroughbreds,  who  was 
in  Chicago  with  the  horses  of  JNIr.  James  R. 
Keene.     His  brother  William  was  simply  there 

[4] 


AN  OREGON  ARAB 

with  open  ears  and  loose  change,  listening  for 
the  best  tips.  One  day  I  went  to  the  stalls  in 
the  Bedouin  camp  and  made  a  sketch  of  a  gray 
stallion  they  called  Obeyran.  I  finished  the 
picture  in  pen  and  ink,  and  showed  it  to  the 
Lakelands.  They  thought  I  ought  to  get  one 
of  the  smaller  horses  in  exchange  for  it,  while 
I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  be  content  if  they 
would  give  me  a  saddle  and  bridle  that  had  ac- 
tually been  on  one  of  the  horses,  as  I  had 
learned  that  all  the  animals  had  to  be  returned 
to  the  desert  near  Damascus,  whence  they 
had  come  by  special  permission  of  the  Sultan 
of  Turkey. 

The  Lakelands  went  with  me  to  present  the 
picture.  I  had  stupidly  drawn  it  while  the 
horse  was  in  his  stall,  with  the  tail  hanging  as 
an  ordinary  horse's  tail  would  hang.  The 
Bedouins  recognized  the  picture,  and  most  of 
them  exclaimed  "Obeyran!"  but  in  a  moment 
there  was  a  rumpus  raised  because  the  tail  was 
carried  low.  One  of  them  struck  the  picture 
with  a  sword  and  cut  it  in  two,  and  another 
ripped  at  it,  and  finally  it  was  knocked  out  of 
my  hands  and  torn  in  pieces.  The  Lakelands 
and  myself  were  thrown  bodily  out  of  the  en- 

[5]    ^ 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

closure.  There  was  a  Syrian  in  the  party 
who  could  talk  English,  and  he  explained  to 
us  that  these  town  Arabs  had  misunderstood 
our  intention  and  thought  that  the  picture  had 
been  made  as  an  insult  to  their  horses.  This 
was  quite  a  disappointment  indeed.  The 
Lakelands  were  entirely  discouraged,  but  it 
only  stopped  me  for  a  few  days. 

Notwithstanding  the  want  of  appreciation 
given  to  my  efforts  as  an  artist,  I  was  soon  back 
as  a  regular  customer,  paying  every  day  that 
the  fair  was  open,  to  see  the  same  horses  go 
through  the  same  games,  at  the  same  price. 
Because  of  the  time  I  had  spent  on  the  bleach- 
ers watching  the  games  of  the  so-called 
Bedouins,  I  lost  my  position  on  the  Herald, 
and  was  driven  back  to  San  Francisco,  where 
there  were  no  Arab  horses,  and  where,  for  this 
reason,  I  was  able  to  hold  a  position  on  one 
of  the  newspapers. 

At  the  close  of  the  World's  Fair,  I  saw  by 
the  press  dispatches  that  the  Arab  horses 
which  were  to  have  been  sent  back  to  Syria, 
had  been  held  by  a  mortgage  in  this  country, 
and  had  been  sold  at  an  auction,  but  not  until 
after  nine  had  been  burned  to  death  in  their 

[6] 


AN  OREGON  ARAB 

stalls.     The  remaining  horses  had  been  bought 
principally  by  people  in  New  England. 

Late  in  the  fall  of  1895, 1  came  to  New  York 
City.  One  of  the  first  letters  I  wrote  was  to  Mr. 
Randolph  Huntington,  of  Oyster  Bay,  Long 
Island,  to  inquire  if  he  knew  where  the  horses 
that  had  been  at  the  World's  Fair  had  gone. 
Mr.  Huntington  told  me  that  he  knew  where 
one  was,  a  gray  mare,  which  was  the  best  of 
the  lot.  I  lost  no  time  in  seeing  this  mare, 
but  it  was  several  years  before  I  found  the  rest 
of  them.  I  was  continually  hunting  for  them 
and  they  were  finally  discovered  in  the  posses- 
sion of  ]\Ir.  Peter  B.  Bradley,  of  Hingham, 
Massachusetts. 

Mr.  Bradley  is  an  eminent  horseman,  who 
had  accumulated,  regardless  of  cost,  some  of 
our  own  trotters  of  the  finest  blood  as  well  as 
thoroughbreds,  hackneys  and  other  types. 
Many  of  his  Arab  horses  had  died,  but  all  that 
were  left  of  the  original  lot  Mr.  Bradley 
owned.  On  my  first  visit  to  his  place,  I  bought 
one  of  the  bay  stallions,  and  began  to  make  a 
study  of  the  Arab  horse  from  close  range.  I 
bought  some  books  on  the  Arab  horse,  and 
found  that  probably  the  Chicago  Arabs  were 
not  what  one  would  call  desert  horses,  with  the 

[T] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

exception  of  the  fine  gray  mare,  Ned j ma, 
which  Mrs.  Ramsdell  owned.  The  rest  had 
been  shipped  from  Damascus  and  were  town 
Arabs.  This  made  me  all  the  more  eager  to 
do  somethuig  myself. 


[8] 


CHAPTER  II 

PROCURING  THE   IRADE     AND     THE     START     FOR 

THE  DESERT 

There  had  been  but  one  thought  uppermost 
in  my  mind  ever  since  the  hniment  can  days  and 
that  was,  to  go  to  the  desert  personally  and  in 
some  way  bring  out  Arab  mares  of  unquestion- 
able blood.  I  knew  that  to  do  that  I  should 
need  a  permit  from  the  Sultan  of  Turkey.  I 
also  knew  that  while  the  Sultan  had  presented 
General  Grant  with  two  stallions,  he  had  re- 
fused to  let  the  General  have  any  mares.  It 
was  commonly  understood  that  foreign  na- 
tions, which  were  continually  seeking  Arab 
blood  for  the  Government  studs,  with  difficulty 
obtained  it.* 


*In  a  letter  his  Excellency  Chikeb  Bey,  the  Turkish  Embas- 
sador, at  Washington,  under  date  of  December  27th,  1906,  in 
reply  to  a  question  from  me,  says:  "I  cannot  tell  exactly 
the  date  when  the  exportation  of  Arabian  horses  from  the 
Ottoman  Empire  was  forbidden,  but  if  my  memory  serves  me 
well,  the  first  prohibition  dates  back  thirty  or  thirty-five 
years." 


[9] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

In  the  latter  part  of  December,  1905, 1  asked 
President  Roosevelt  if  he  thought  he  could 
help  me  to  get  a  permit  from  the  Sultan  of 
Turkey,  as  I  had  wanted  to  try  and  carry  out 
plans  which  I  had  had  in  mind  for  several 
months,  and  I  received  the  following  letter 
from  him  on  January  1st,  1906,  enclosing  an- 
other from  the  Secretary  of  State : 

The  White  House, 
Washington,  January  1,  1906. 
My  Dear  Mr.  Davenport: 

Anything  you  want  I  should  like  to  do  any- 
how, and  when  it  comes  to  dealing  with 
Arabian  horses  I  would  take  you  up  with 
double  zeal.  Is  the  enclosed  letter  from  the 
Secretary  of  State  all  right?  If  not,  make 
what  changes  you  wish  and  I  will  have  them 
put  in.  You  can  use  this  letter  too  with  any 
of  our  representatives.  With  all  good  luck, 
faithfully  yours, 

(Signed)      Theodore  Roosevelt. 
Mr.  Homer  Davenport, 
The  Evenmg  Mail, 
New  York,  N.  Y. 

With  this  letter  I    proceeded    at    once    to 
Washington  for  an  interview  with  His  Ex- 

[10] 


His    Excellency    Chikeb    Bey,    the    Turkish    Embassador,    who 

procured   for   me   the   Irade. 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

cellency  Chikeb  Bey,  then  the  Turkish  Ambas- 
sador, and  after  a  very  pleasant  conversation 
with  him  (he  fortunately  is  a  horseman  of  the 
highest  order)  he  assured  me  that  while  to  get 
mares  from  the  desert  was  almost  impossible, 
still  he  would  make  an  earnest  appeal  and 
would  cable  to  Constantinople. 

After  a  few  days  he  received  a  cablegram  in 
return  which  gave  me  the  first  ray  of  hope,  for 
it  inquired  how  many  horses  I  wanted.  There 
was  some  discussion  then  as  to  the  number  I 
should  ask  for.  After  consideration  I  con- 
cluded that  while  six  was  a  modest  number, 
generally  when  you  went  beyond  six  you 
said  twelve  and  that  just  to  break  the  monot- 
ony of  such  a  system  I  had  best  ask  for  six 
or  eight.  This  was  done  and  the  Sultan  left 
it  just  as  I  had  put  it,  "six  or  eight,"  and  to  my 
utter  astonishment,  as  well  as  the  Ambassa- 
dor's, granted  the  Irade.* 


*In  a  letter  dated  December  28,  1906,  from  Lady  Ann  Blunt, 
the  most  distinguished  traveler  and  authoress  of  the  Arabian 
Desert,  commenting  upon  my  success  in  procuring  such  an 
Irade,  the  Lady  has  this  to  say:  "There  has  always  existed  a 
prohibition  to  export  horses  from  Turkish  territory,  but  of  late 
I  believe  it  has  been  made  more  stringent,  and  the  permission 
given  to  you  must  have  been  due  to  great  judgment  and  skill 
on  the  part  of  the  American  Embassador.  I  doubt  if  at  the 
present  time  any  other  diplomat  would  have  a  like  success." 
I    believe   that   the   liberal   permit   was   granted   more    through 


[12] 


PROCURING  THE  IRADE 

I  had  made  all  my  plans  to  go  alone  to  the 
desert,  intending  to  proceed  to  Deyr,  some  250 
miles  below  Aleppo.  A  few  days  before  I 
planned  to  start,  a  tall  athletic  young  man  with 
the  snappiest  eyes  in  New  York  came  in  to  see 
me.  This  was  John  H.  Thompson,  Jr.  We 
had  met  on  two  or  three  occasions  before. 
When  I  told  him  I  was  going  on  the  trip  to 
the  desert  his  eyes  got  even  brighter  and  he 
said:  "If  I  wouldn't  be  in  the  way  I'd  like 
mighty  well  to  go  on  that  trip  with  you." 

When  I  told  him  that  I  would  like  very  much 
to  have  him  do  so,  he  cut  me  short,  and  an- 
swered; "Let  that  stand  until  I  come  in  to- 
morrow at  10  o'clock." 

When  he  called  the  next  day  he  said:  "I'm 
ready  to  catch  any  boat.     Are  you?" 

In  the  meantime  I  received  a  letter  from  Mr. 
C.  A.  Moore,  the  president  of  the  firm  of 
Messrs.  Manning,  Maxwell  &  Moore,  telling 
me  that  his  son,  Arthur,  was  just  as  much  of 
an  Arab  as  I  was ;  that  he  hadn't  the  slightest 
doubt  that  his  son  would  dance  at  the  mention 
of  such  a  trip,  but  that  he  supposed  it  would 


the  influence  of  this  distinguished  Turkish  official  than  through 
any  efforts  on  the  part  of  the  American  Embassador,  though 
I  am  satisfied  his  efforts  were  of  great  help. 


[18] 


MY  QlfEST  OF    I  IIK  ARAB  TTOKSK 

hcoiit  of  llie  (jiKslIoii  to  tliliik  of  Ills  son's  join- 
iTi^  Tnc,  ns  lie  wiis  six  feet  Coiir  Inches,  weighed 
215  |)oun(ls,  and  wonld,  nalnrally,  he  in  the 
way.  J  called  uj)  the  ofliee  on  [he  'phone  and 
the  young  innn  himself  aiisweivd.  1 1  is  father 
hadn't  s|)()ken  to  him  ahout  the  trij),  hnt  you 
could  actually  hear  the  interest  accumulating 
in  his  voice.  As  1  finished  telling  him  what 
his  father  had  written  me,  he  said,  "All  right, 
we'll  let  it  go  at  that;  just  count  me  in." 
I  asked  him  when  he'd  he  ready,  and  he  said: 
"I'm  ready  now;  I'll  he  up  to  sec  you  in  live 
minutes." 

J  heard  his  telephone  receiver  droj)  off 
the  tnhle  and  smash  on  the  (loor,  and  I  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  he'd  rung  oil*,  as  I  failed 
to  get  any  moi'c  communication.  And  that's 
how  Moore  and  Thompson  came  to  he  on  the 
tri|).      ^'ou'll  heai"  more  ahout  them  later. 

So,  with  a  week's  pre|)nration,  we  sailed  on 
the  French  line,  July  the  .^tli,  19()(;,  for 
Havre,  armed  with  powerful  rilles,  good  let- 
ters of  credit,  and  a  i'cw  othei'  lesser  necessi- 
ties of  life  in  the  desert.  Hefore  I  left  home  I 
had  in  my  stahles  all  the  horses  that  remained 
of  the  diicago  importation,  exce|)t  the  gray 
mare,  and  one  of  her  daughters  tliat  was  owned 

[11 J 


PROCURING  THE  IRADE 

at  Newberg;  but  of  her  family  I  had  two  of 
her  sons,  one  daughter  and  a  <>'randson.  So  I 
had  at  hist  overtaken  the  liorses,  and  tlie  de- 
seendants  of  tlie  liorses,  that  I  had  seen  slip- 
ping so  graeefully  on  the  pavements  of  Chi- 
eao'o.  The  i)assenoer  list  was  a  very  big  one 
on  the  Freneh  liner,  but,  when  the  ])assengers 
went  ashore  in  France,  evervbody  who  had 
been  on  board  the  boat,  even  to  the  captain, 
was  fairly  well  informed  on  Arabian  horses. 

The  two  youno'  men  who  were  with  me  were 
as  proud  of  the  Irade  that  I  carried  from  his 
Imperial  JNIajesty,  the  Sultan,  apparently,  as 
I  was  myself,  and  already  it  began  to  show 
the  w^ear  and  tear  of  much  handling. 

We  reached  Constantinople  on  a  train  they 
called  ''The  liimited,"  on  July  19th,  in  the 
forenoon,  and  after  the  usual  formalities  over 
j)assports,  went  to  the  hotel.  The  American 
Embassy  was  almost  next  door  to  the  hotel, 
and  at  the  Embassy  our  first  real  excitement 
came.  When  I  arrived,  Thompson  and  ISIoore 
having  preceded  me,  JNIr.  Alexander  Gargiulo, 
the  first  Dragoman,  was  talking  ^Vrab  horse 
with  my  companions  and  they  had  told  him  that 
I  had  an  Irade  from  the  Sultan  permitting  me 
to  export  six  or  eight  mares.     This  he  thought 

[15]~ 


^^^^^c'/^s/.. 


€^ ^yyv^      (n\y^T/!ut.*^t^A^   /S^<a^/^,    J^ ^ at^r-t^  i^l^  A/^^ 
"^^^Oc/va^    "^    C^>-i.^L^^i^yy^  'L^crt^    ^a/^  v/^^z^r-^u-  a..^-v-u<fe.j^C^  "Oy 


PROCURING  THE  IRADE 

was  impossible.  So  when  I  came  in,  and  they 
asked  me  if  I  had  the  Irade  with  me,  I  took  it 
from  my  pocket  with  some  pride.  Then  came 
the  usual  fall.  After  Gargiulo  had  read  it, 
he  said  it  meant  nothing;  that  he  was  afraid 
we  had  come  a  long  journey  for  our  health  and 
into  a  poor  country.  He  declared  the  "Irade" 
was  simply  a  letter  from  the  Ambassador  at 
Washington,  who  could  not  write  Irades.  He 
added  that  during  his  forty  years  at  the  Em- 
bassy he  had  never  heard  of  such  a  permit  be- 
ing granted  to  a  Government,  not  to  speak  of 
an  individual;  he  hoped  that  it  was  official, 
and  said  he  would  take  the  paper  to  the  Palace 
and  find  out  its  authenticity. 

Of  course  you  can  see  what  my  sleep  was 
that  night.  I  had  been  in  bed  five  minutes,  per- 
haps, when  my  first  dream  was  that  I  had  met 
Mr.  Gargiulo  the  next  morning;  that  he  had 
come  to  me  as  politely  as  possible  and  told  me 
that  the  Sultan  had  no  remembrance  of  any 
such  correspondence;  that  he  was  indeed  very 
sorry  that  I  had  been  misled  in  coming  so  far 
from  home  at  such  an  awkward  time  of  the  year. 
The  next  dream  was  similar,  and  so,  after  an 
awful  night,  I  was  up  at  daylight,  peevish. 

However,  on  meeting  Mr.  Gargiulo  at  about 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

10  o'clock  the  following  morning,  he  drew  from 
his  inside  pocket,  carefully,  all  the  time  smil- 
ing more  and  more  broadly,  my  Irade,  with  offi- 
cial attachments  pinned  to  it  and  with  the  add- 
ed information  from  the  Sultan,  that,  on  this 
occasion,  I  could  export  with  the  mares  what 
stallions  I  chose  to  purchase. 

Things  were  different  then;  the  dogs  in  the 
street  looked  a  little  better  to  us,  and  we  fig- 
ured out  that  Constantinople  would  not  be  such 
a  bad  place  if  they  spent  five  or  six  years  try- 
ing to  clean  the  streets.  We  were  jubilant; 
we  went  to  see  a  polo  match,  saw  the  first  Arab 
polo  horses,  and  heard  evidence  from  an  En- 
glish naval  officer  that  to  play  polo  nowadays, 
and  play  it  right,  one  should  be  mounted  on  an 
Arab. 

We  were  restless  to  get  on  our  journey. 
The  Sultan  indeed  had  sent  word  to  us  from 
the  Palace  that  it  would  be  impossible,  owing 
to  the  heat,  to  go  to  Aleppo  and  the  desert  at 
that  time  of  the  year,  but  we  smiled,  and  sent 
word  back  with  the  royal  messenger,  that  we 
were  not  on  a  pleasure  trip,  but  on  business 
only. 


[18] 


CHAPTER  III 


THE  sultan's  stables 


Anxious  as  we  were  to  get  off  to  the  desert 
there  were  enough  things  in  Constantinople  to 
keep  us  interested  for  several  days,  and  chief 
among  them  were  the  Selamlik,  the  only  time 
in  those  days  when  the  outsider  could  get  a 
glimpse  of  His  Imperial  Majesty  and  a  visit 
to  the  royal  stables.  Of  the  Selamlik  I  shall 
tell  at  length  in  another  chapter,  for  it  deserves 
a  chapter  to  itself.  At  the  time  we  were  in 
Constantinople  it  was  not  entirely  easy  for  for- 
eigners to  witness  the  ceremony,  but  permis- 
sion to  visit  the  Imperial  stud  was  easily  ob- 
tained through  ]Mr.  Gargiulo.  ^Ir.  Gargiulo 
was  with  General  Grant  on  the  latter's  visit  to 
the  Royal  stables,  when  the  Sultan  offered  him 
a  stallion,  which  the  General  at  that  time  re- 
fused. Later,  when  in  France  he  saw  what  use 
France  had  made  of  the  Arab  blood,  he  wrote 
saving  he  would  take  the    one   offered.     Mr. 

[  19  1 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

Gargiulo  told  the  Sultan  how  lonely  a  trip  to 
America  would  be  for  one  stallion  and  that  two 
would  travel  better  together.  Accordingly  the 
Sultan  gave  two.  His  Majesty  picked  out  a 
gray  and  a  black,  and  as  they  were  being  pre- 
pared for  the  trip,  Mr.  Gargiulo  tried  them, 
and  found  the  black  was  not  a  good  saddle 
horse.  He  had  to  think  of  some  scheme  by 
which  an  exchange  could  be  made,  but  he  knew 
he  would  have  to  have  a  good  reason.  Final- 
ly, as  he  went  to  the  Master  of  Ceremonies,  to 
thank  him  for  the  stallions  for  the  General,  he 
said:  "But " 

"But,  what?"  said  the  Master  of  Ceremonies, 
with  some  heat — "you  first  ask  for  one,  then  for 
two,  and  when  all  this  is  granted,  you  say, 
"But—     But  what?" 

"But — I  have  found  from  careful  inspection 
of  history,"  answered  Gargiulo,  "that  no 
American  ruler  ever  rode  a  black  horse.  Will 
not  His  Majesty  send  a  horse  of  some  other 
color  for  the  black  one?" 

The  Master  of  Ceremonies  made  note,  and 
said  His  Majesty  should  be  told. 

The  next  day  another  horse  had  been  chosen, 
a  darker  gray  than  the  first  one,  which  must 
have  been  "Linden-tree,"  as  he  was  the  darker 

[  20  1 


THE   SULTAN'S   STABLES 

of  the  two,  and  a  better  horse.  ]Mr.  Gargiulo 
said  that  as  far  as  breed  was  concerned,  no  one 
knew  their  blood,  they  were  just  presents  to  the 
Sultan,  and  presents  from  the  Sultan  to  Gen- 
eral Grant,  of  no  known  blood,  and  were  sup- 
posed to  be  pure  Arabs.  I  told  this  distin- 
guished old  gentleman  that  "Linden-tree" 
was  much  written  of  in  America  as  a  barb, 
when  he  laughed  heartily,  adding:  "No  barbs 
were  ever  in  the  Sultan's  stable,  as  he  does  not 
like  the  people,  much  less  the  horses." 

The  Sultan's  stables  are  long,  low  buildings, 
with  a  row  of  wide  stalls  on  each  side  of  a 
passageway  down  the  centre.  They  are 
very  plain  and  the  horses  stand  on  the  bare 
cement  floor  during  the  day,  which  is  very  bad 
for  their  feet.  In  the  Arab  barns  we  saw 
thirty-five  bays  and  chestnuts,  one  black,  and 
thirty-two  grays  and  whites.  Not  more  than 
twelve  were  pure  white,  and  they  had  very  dark 
skin  around  the  eyes  and  nose.  The  superin- 
tendent of  the  stables  did  not  know  the  breed- 
ing of  the  horses,  but  when  I  asked  about  a 
beautiful  gray  stallion,  he  said  he  was  of  Bag- 
dad breed.  This  would  be  like  saying  he  was  a 
Philadelphia  horse.  A  chestnut  stallion  that 
seemed  to  be  the  favorite,  was  called  by  the 

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V3 


THE   SULTAN'S   STABLES 

superintendent  a  "Nejd"  breed.  Now  there  is 
no  "Nejd"  breed;  the  people  of  Nejd  buy  their 
horses  from  the  Anezeh,  as  Nejd  is  not  a  good 
horse  country.  I  asked  if  he  had  any  Seglawi 
Jedrans  (the  favorite  breed  of  the  desert) ,  and 
he  brought  four  stalhons,  bays,  which  he  said 
were  Seglawi  Jedrans.  But  when  I  suggested 
that  a  chestnut,  a  fine  specimen,  looked  like  my 
own  Mannakey,  which  is  a  Hamdani  Simri,  the 
man  in  charge  hearing  the  words  "Hamdani 
Simri,"  immediately  nodded,  and  said  the  horse 
was  a  Hamdani.  This  made  me  think  that  he 
simply  was  trying  to  please  me.  The  Sultan's 
horses  are  of  good  blood,  though  perhaps  they 
are  not  all  that  would  please  the  Bedouin. 
They  are  kept  badly  and  without  exercise.  If 
they  were  other  than  the  Arabs  they  would 
have  lost  all  semblance  to  horses,  but  the  Arab 
can  cavort  round  even  with  his  flanks  full  of 
fat  when  another  horse  would  completely  col- 
lapse. 

As  the  horses  were  brought  out  in  front  of 
the  main  stables  they  were  ridden  by  one  of  the 
most  expert  men  I  have  ever  seen  in  the  sad- 
dle. From  the  point  of  style  he  was  flawless. 
His  hands  were  almost  under  him  in  his  seat, 
any  antics  or  play  of  the  horses  did  not  disturb 

[23] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

him  in  the  least,  and  his  command  of  the  horse 
was  perfect.  Not  many  of  the  horses  had 
jibbahs,  or  full  foreheads,  so  esteemed  by  the 
Bedouin  desert  tribes.  They  were  ridden  in 
a  circle  over  a  pile  of  loose  stones  about  the  size 
of  hen's  eggs. 

Yet  over  these  rolling  rocks  they  galloped 
and  pranced,  changing  gaits  as  easily  as  an 
auto  will  shift  its  gear.  We  all  commented  on 
the  fact  that  there  never  was  a  misstep,  or  a 
stumble,  or  a  bumping  of  ankles.  A  bay  horse 
with  a  peculiar  blazed  face  and  feet,  eighteen 
years  old,  was  as  nimble  as  any  colt.  Their 
lack  of  exercise  was  plain  from  their  stuffy 
flanks,  but  their  action  was  beautiful.  In  the 
stall  they  were  tied  from  each  side,  and  from 
the  middle  of  the  nose-band,  and  one,  a  white 
stallion,  was  fastened  by  the  front  pastern.  To 
get  exercise  most  of  them  had  pawed  holes  in 
the  concrete  floor.  All  in  all  they  were  a  fine 
lot  of  horses,  but  poorly  kept,  to  say  the  least. 

The  Sultan,  himself,  is  a  horseman,  and  per- 
haps knows  the  breeding  of  every  animal  in  his 
stables.  And  he  being  a  horseman,  I  would 
dare  make  a  suggestion  to  him,  as  a  Westerner 
to  an  Easterner. 

The  horses  in  the  Turkish  Empire  show  a 

[24] 


THE   SULTAN'S   STABLES 

lack  of  good  stock.  They  are  deplorably  in 
need  of  new  blood.  I  would  suggest  to  His 
JNIajesty  that  he  send  his  fine  stallions  each 
spring  all  through  the  Empire  and  breed  them 
to  the  really  good  mares  which  are  to  be  found 
in  all  parts  of  the  country.  The  French  Gov- 
ernment has  followed  this  plan  with  excellent 
results.  The  fee  should  be  small,  of  course. 
In  France  it  is  only  $3.00  and  this  compara- 
tively small  sum  enables  the  poorest  peasant 
to  secure  the  service  of  the  best  stallions  the 
Government  owns. 

If  this  were  done  I  venture  to  predict  that  in 
ten  years  the  majority  of  horses  in  the  Turkish 
Empire  would  be  good  instead  of  what  they 
are  now — bad. 

Germany  and  Russia  as  well  as  France  have 
done  this  very  thing,  not  only  with  their  own 
horses,  but  with  the  very  few  which  they  have 
been  able  to  import  from  Turkey.  The  result 
has  been  almost  amazing. 

Then  when  one  sees  such  a  large  number  of 
finely  bred  stallions  going  to  waste  in  stables 
where  they  are  not  even  exercised,  a  sugges- 
tion like  the  one  I  have  made  comes  naturally 
to  one's  mind. 

The  Sultan  has,  of  late  years,  established 

[25] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

some  farms,  where  he  takes  pleasure  in  breed- 
ing from  the  finest  animals  he  has  in  his  stables, 
and  where  he  could  start  the  foundation  of 
what  would  be  immensely  appreciated  by  his 
people. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  when  we  were 
in  Constantinople  the  old  regime  was  at  its 
best — or  its  worst.  Perhaps  among  the  re- 
forms which  Abdul  Hamid  has  promised  since 
the  "revolution"  to  his  subjects,  the  improve- 
ment of  the  breed  of  horses  will  some  day  be 
numbered. 


[26] 


A^  ^"^f  ^4 


Abdul  Hamid,  His  Imperial  Majesty  the  Sultan  of  Turkey. 
Up  to  this  time  this  was  the  first  sketch  ever  made  of  the 
Sultan,  and  might  have  cost  a  lot  of  trouble,  to  say  nothing  of 
human  suffering,  as  high  Turkish  officials  that  had  helped  me 
procure  the  Irade  were  in  danger  of  being  put  in  exile  owing  to 
this  sketch,  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  Hon.  J.  B.  Jackson, 
American  Consul  at  Alexandretta,  Turkish  spies  would  have 
discovered  it  and  my  horses  and  mares  been  confiscated.  As  it 
was,  the  picture  was  smuggled  onto  the  ship  in  a  bale  of  hay.  I 
dare  say  it's  a  strong  caricature  of  the  Sultan  instead  of  a 
character   study,    though    that    matters    little    to   him   now. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  SULTAN  OF  TURKEY 

At  the  time  we  were  in  Constantinople,  to 
see  the  Sultan  was  an  event.  The  only  possible 
opportunity  for  the  public  (the  very  limited 
public)  to  get  a  view  of  him  was  at  the  Selam- 
lik.  This  was  a  sort  of  religious  parade,  ac- 
complished every  Friday,  when  His  Majesty 
drove  a  few  yards  out  of  his  palace  grounds 
and  down  a  hill  to  a  mosque  for  religious  wor- 
ship. 

The  custom  of  centuries,  the  Mohammedan 
religious  law,  even,  had  decreed  that  on  every 
Friday  the  successor  of  the  true  prophet  should 
make  his  devotions  at  the  JNIosque  of  St.  So- 
phia. And  for  centuries  the  Sultans  of  Tur- 
key obeyed  the  law  and  custom. 

Every  Friday  saw  them  proceeding  in  state 
to  the  ancient  church  erected  by  Constantine 
when  the  cross  was  above  the  crescent  on  the 

[28] 


THE  SULTAN  OF  TURKEY 

Golden  Horn,  and  there  promising  God  and 
His  prophet  to  maintain  the  faith. 

Even  Abdul  Aziz,  in  whose  reign  the  eternal 
"Eastern  Question"  first  began  to  ask  emphat- 
ically for  an  answer,  and  who  was  murdered  in 
1876,  did  this  thing;  even  Abdul  Murad,  who 
was  "removed"  after  two  months  of  nominal 
rule,  did  it;  and  even  Abdul  Hamid  II  fol- 
lowed their  example  for  many  years.  Then 
came  more  troublous  times.  His  Majesty  im- 
mured himself  in  the  Yildiz  Kiosk  and  the  visits 
to  St.  Sophia  became  less  frequent.  Indeed, 
they  ceased  altogether.  For,  remember — the 
Yildiz  palace  is  on  the  Bosphorus  above  Pera ; 
and  Pera  is  above  Galata ;  and  between  Galata 
and  Stamboul  there  is  a  long  and  treacherous 
bridge  of  boats,  and  between  the  bridge  of 
boats  and  St.  Sophia  there  are  many  narrow 
streets  to  traverse.  From  any  window  of  the 
houses  that  line  these  narrow  streets,  a  bullet 
might  be  fired  or  a  bomb  might  be  dropped 
and  who  the  wiser,  though  the  sidewalks  be 
lined  with  troops? 

Once  in  a  long  time  Abdul  Hamid  made  the 
trip  from  the  Yildiz  Kiosk  to  Stamboul  down 
the  Bosphorus  in  a  boat.  But  Bosphorus 
boats,  as  many  Sultans  of  Turkey  know,  are 

[29] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

dangerous  affairs,  so  even  this  was  finally  aban- 
doned. Worship  was  confined  to  the  Mosque 
near  the  Yildiz  Kiosk.  Even  in  these  narrow- 
precincts  His  Majesty  was  not  safe,  as  the 
bomb  thrown  at  him  a  few  years  ago  bears  wit- 
ness. 

It  was  natural,  therefore,  that  the  attendance 
at  the  Selamlik  was  carefully  scrutinized  and 
that  one's  credentials  had  to  be  thoroughly 
looked  into  before  a  permit  to  witness  the  cere- 
mony could  be  obtained.  Generally  the  get- 
ting of  the  permit  is  a  matter  of  four  weeks 
or  so,  but  we  had  no  time  to  spare  and  so  were 
prepared  for  the  ceremony  on  short  notice. 

It  required  real  activity  on  the  part  of  the 
Embassy  to  get  us  three  to  the  post  at  the 
right  time  and  it  was  at  11  o'clock  Friday 
morning,  July  20,  1906,  before  we  knew  the 
"one  best  bet."  Our  appearance  was  a  shock 
to  the  dignified  foreign  consuls  and  ambassa- 
dors. For  some  reason  or  other,  they  did  not 
think  we  were  dressed  exactly  right.  Moore 
wore  his  own  trousers,  with  a  borrowed  frock 
coat  which  was  a  little  tight  for  that  kind  of  a 
day,  and  a  borrowed  plug  hat  (that's  the  only 
name  to  call  it)  which  was  two  sizes  too  small. 
It  is  strange,  but  true,  that  some  other  fellow's 

[30] 


^^^Z7oC 


It  was  a  rare  treat  for   the  diplomats  when  we  lined  up  for 

admission  to  the  palace. 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

hat  never  looks  quite  right  on  you,  especially 
if  it's  a  size  and  a  half  too  small.  Moore  han- 
dled his  hat  as  a  farmer  does  the  parlor  lamp. 
He  dropped  it  once,  and  it  fell  out  of  the  car- 
riage the  same  number  of  times.  He  didn't 
wear  it,  but  he  tried  to  balance  it  on  his  head 
as  a  carrier  would  carry  a  jug  of  water. 
Thompson  did  not  have  a  frock  coat,  but  he 
had  a  raincoat  which  he  said  he  could  button 
so  that  no  one  could  tell  it  from  a  frock.  This, 
with  ordinary  trousers,  and  a  straw  hat  an- 
chored by  a  clothesline  to  his  toughest  button- 
hole, completed  his  outer  raiment.  As  for  my- 
self, I  had  a  frock  coat,  with  trousers  of  an- 
other suit,  and  a  plain  slouch  white  hat  that 
looked  well  (I  thought,  in  New  York),  but 
which  showed  the  effects  of  the  trip  on  the 
Oriental  Limited  from  Paris.  It  was  all  right 
to  turn  water,  but  I  saw  that  the  foreign 
diplomats  noticed  the  general  outfit,  which,  in 
a  baseball  term,  was  not  what  one  might  call 
"team  work." 

We  were  hurried  into  two  carriages  to  the 
scene  of  action,  with  officers  wrapped  in  gold 
braid  distributed  among  us,  which  gave  to  the 
trip  a  military  atmosphere. 

The  feeble  dogs  dragged  themselves  out  of 

[32] 


THE  SULTAN  OF  TURKEY 

the  way  just  as  the  wheels  grazed  their  hind 
quarters,  as  we  rode  through  the  hot,  foul 
streets.  Donkies,  bearing  heavy  burdens, 
were  yelled  at  by  our  driver;  we  passed  line 
after  line  of  soldiers,  who  all  saluted;  we 
climbed  hills,  where  the  cobblestones  were  very 
rough;  we  saw  troops;  we  passed  an  officer 
mounted  on  a  horse  that  showed  much  Arab 
blood.  Finally  we  came  to  outposts  through 
which  few  passed,  but  we  drove  on  and  on, 
passing  line  after  line  of  strict  guards.  As  we 
passed  along,  the  fences  and  gates  were  more 
heavily  plated  with  gold,  and  at  last  we  ar- 
rived at  the  wing  of  the  Palace  facing  the 
street.  In  the  reception  room,  properly 
dressed  diplomats  stood  as  stiff  as  iron  statu- 
ary on  old-fashioned  country  estates.  We 
nudged  ourselves  with  elbows  as  we  saw  people 
recognize  that  this,  that,  or  the  other,  of  our 
garb,  was  borrowed.  We  felt  that  the  whole 
Turkish  Army,  which  had  been  drawn  up  in 
review  outside  the  Palace,  knew  it.  Still,  in 
our  awkward  manner,  we  thought  that  the 
army,  at  least,  might  think  we  were  diplomats 
from  some  countries  that  they  had  not  heard  of. 
As  we  were  being  presented  to  high  Turk- 
ish officials,  Moore  nearly  dropped  the  bor- 

[33] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 


rowed  silk  hat  again,  and  an  officer,  who  could 
speak  a  little  English,  asked  Thompson  if  he 
did  not  find  it  a  warm  day  for  an  overcoat ;  so 
discovered,  he  took  it  off.     We  laid  our  hats 

on  the  big  table,  among 
the  other  plug  hats,  and 
some  in  the  room  smiled 
again. 

From  the  balcony  win- 
dow we  watched  battalion 
after  battalion  arrive  and 
form  a  mile  in  each  direc- 
tion; all  along  the  route 
of  the  short  parade  sol- 
diers stood  with  bayonets 
in  their  rifles.  Band  after 
band  came,  that  reminded 
me  of  the  Silverton  band, 
in  Oregon.  One  was  actu- 
ally playing  the  same 
,  march  we  used  to  play  in 
Silverton — "Belgrade." 

Troops  had  been  form- 
ing for  more  than  an 
hour.  We  noticed  that  there  was  a  great  dif- 
ference between  them  and  our  soldiers,  and  at 
first  we  could  not  think  what  the  difference 

[34] 


S^ 


A    Royal    Eunuch. 


THE  SULTAN  OF  TURKEY 

was,  but  eventually  we  struck  it.  These  sol- 
diers never  smile.  They  look  as  if  they  were 
going  into  immediate  battle.  There  was  no 
expression  of  good  fellowship;  they  seemed 
tired,  and  not  one  recognized,  in  any  way,  the 
comrade  by  his  side.  When  they  saluted  the 
generals,  or  some  high  state  official,  the  action 
was  as  automatic  as  that  of  a  wooden  soldier. 

And  now  the  ceremony  is  on.  The  Sul- 
tan's Master  of  Ceremonies  comes  and  we 
are  presented.  He  is  all  smiles,  and  at  a  dis- 
tance, from  the  motion  of  his  hands,  you  think 
he  is  washing  them.  He  explains  that  much  as 
the  Sultan  might  have  wished,  an  audience 
with  us  is  impossible,  but  that  he  will  be  glad 
to  arrange  it  for  a  later  date.  Through  him, 
I  thank  the  Sultan  for  the  honor  of  the  Irade, 
which  had  brought  me  to  Constantinople. 

Presently  a  carriage  comes  up  the  little 
steep  hill,  with  guards  at  the  side.  In  this 
closed  carriage  we  see  two  women  with  veils 
over  their  heads;  beside  them  are  sitting  two 
girls,  perhaps  fifteen  years  of  age  or  less. 
They  peer  at  the  visitors  on  the  veranda,  and 
in  at  the  windows  of  the  Palace ;  they  seem  curi- 
ous to  know  what  things  look  like  outside  of 
the  three  great  walls.     It  is  whispered  that 

[35]- 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

they  are  princesses,  daughters  of  the  Sultan, 
and  that  the  others  are  women  of  the  Harem. 
Back  of  this  carriage  walk  six  ill-shaped, 
gaunt,  long-legged  black  beings;  they  look 
more  like  educated  apes  than  species  of  men. 
Their  hands  are  awkward,  and  their  feet  are 
long  and  vulgarly  flat.  All  they  do  is  to 
smile  and  follow  the  carriage,  like  coach  dogs. 
Their  long  black  frock  coats  even  have  a  dis- 
agreeable swing;  they  are  Eunuchs,  and  when 
they  speak  it  is  in  a  high  tenor  voice,  not  at  all 
musical. 

It  is  getting  close  to  the  hour  of  the  cere- 
mony and  some  foreign  officer  in  the  Palace 
complains  that  the  Sultan  is  late.  A  double 
line  of  distinguished  men,  nearly  covered  with 
braid  and  medals,  and  swords,  marches  down 
and  forms  a  circle  around  where  the  Imperial 
carriage  will  be  drawn  up.  These  men  are  the 
guards  of  the  household.  Then  three  stately 
men,  old  men,  march  silently  by.  They  are 
field  marshals.  Two  small  children  appear  on 
the  marble  steps  where  the  Sultan  will  soon 
appear.  They  are  the  Sultan's  children,  boys 
aged  about  twelve  and  eight.  Their  uniforms 
are  very  heavy,  but  they  bear  themselves  easily 
and  naturally.     Generals  bow   to    them    and 

[36] 


Royal  Eunuchs  following  the  carriages  of  the  Princesses  in  the 

parade. 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

their  tiny  spurs  glisten  from  their  boots,  al- 
though no  stick  horses  are  in  sight. 

While  all  is  still,  a  trumpet  makes  a  loud, 
long  sound  and  swords  and  rifles,  like  one  big 
click  from  a  tremendous  clock,  are  brought 
up  to  present  arms;  and  then  we  hear  from 
up  near  the  top  of  the  Mosque  a  priest  yelling 
in  a  monotone,  something  that  suggests  a  song, 
or  prayer  of  some  wild  desert  tribe.  Thou- 
sands of  soldiers  veil  at  the  same  instant,  as 
if  by  some  automatic  process,  the  same  words. 
The  sound  makes  you  shudder  with  its  wild 
melody. 

An  open  carriage  comes  through  the  great 
gates,  which  sparkle  like  gold  as  they  are 
swung  open.  Surrounding  the  carriage  are 
guards,  with  drawn  swords  and  tightly 
clenched  fists.  Hitched  to  the  carriage  are  two 
fine  bay  horses,  with  docked  tails.  Their  coats 
are  as  golden  as  their  harness;  they  prance, 
they  need  exercise.  There,  saluting  in  that 
automatic  way,  rides  the  Sultan.  In  the  seat 
facing  him  is  a  ponderous  man;  I  don't  really 
see  him.  I  just  see  the  reflections  and  high 
lights.  I  know  that  his  local  color  is  white 
and  red  and  gold.  They  tell  us  that  this  large 
glittering  object  is  the  Minister  of  War.     At 

[38] 


THE  SULTAN  OF  TURKEY 

any  rate  he  seems  to  wear  everything  the  army 
has  ever  captured.  But  I  was  there  to  see  the 
Sultan — and  to  draw  him ! 

Can  you  imagine  my  feelings?  Here  was 
a  man,  not  twenty-five  feet  from  me,  whose 
features  most  of  the  world  did  not  know  and 
wanted  to  see;  one  of  the  great  rulers  of  the 
earth  who  had  never  posed  for  a  picture — and 
I  did  not  dare  pull  a  sketching  pad  from  my 
pocket ! 

I  was  afraid  my  eyes  would  not  register. 
Suppose  a  fly  had  flown  into  them  for  just 
that  brief  moment?  Suppose  I  had  sneezed? 
It  would  have  been  rough  handling,  and  it 
would  have  meant  expulsion  from  the  country 
if  I  had  drawn  a  pad  from  my  pocket,  as  de- 
tectives and  spies  stood  behind  us  watching  our 
hands.  Worst  of  all,  I  was  afraid  that  if  I 
did  make  an  attempt  to  sketch  I  would  have 
my  Irade  taken  away.  So  it  may  be  plain  why 
I  did  not  notice  the  Minister  of  War,  or  who- 
ever it  was  in  the  carriage  with  the  Sultan.  I 
did  not  even  notice  the  beautiful  Arabian  stal- 
lions which  were  led  just  back  of  his  carriage. 
But  my  eyes  did  work  and  they  did  register 
even  under  such  a  strain.  I  saw  the  Sultan's 
features  well,  and  they  were  mine ;  so  much  so 

[39]  ^ 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

that  on  his  return  from  the  Mosque,  driving 
himself  behind  two  white  Arab  staUions,  it 
seemed  that  we  were  old  friends. 

The  Sultan  is,  after  all,  just  a  man;  a  frail, 
elderly  man,  enjoying,  I  should  say,  the  best 
possible  life  under  such  conditions.  Uncon- 
sciously he  rather  shrank  from  the  gaze  of  so 
many  hungry  eyes,  though  he  bore  a  kindly  ex- 
pression mingled  with  a  certain  degree  of  fear. 
He  looked  like  a  combination  of  the  late  Nel- 
son Dingley,  of  Maine,  and  Mr.  Nathan 
Strauss,  of  New  York.  I  can  say  this  with 
all  due  respect  to  the  three  concerned.  The 
Sultan's  forehead  is  a  thoughtful  one,  although 
his  fez  prevented  me  from  seeing  how  high  it 
was.  His  eyes  and  eyebrows,  while  showing 
the  strain  under  which  he  lives,  also  show  that 
he  is  a  kind  father,  and  would,  if  permitted, 
be  a  kindly  home  man.  His  face  is  thin  and 
frail ;  his  beard  is  carelessly  kept.  One  of  his 
eyebrows  strays  back  of  his  eyebrow  bone,  al- 
most into  his  temple.  As  his  carriage  arrived 
at  the  Mosque,  the  generals  fairly  bowed  to  the 
ground.  He  climbed  out  as  most  men  of  six- 
ty-four years  would.  His  children  greeted 
him,  and  he  turned  to  admire  the  smaller  one. 

[40] 


THE  SULTAN  OF  TURKEY 

Standing,  he  is  below  the  average  in  stature, 
slightly  bent  on  the  shoulders. 

He  was  fatherly  to  his  children,  turning  aft- 
er he  had  gotten  up  three  steps  to  come 
back  one  step  and  greet  them  again.  I 
thought  when  I  saw  this  that  no  matter  what 
crimes  had  been  charged  to  him,  his  expression- 
less soldiers,  his  army  and  its  leaders  were  pos- 
sibly more  to  blame  than  he. 

If  you  ever  saw  Nelson  Dingley  walking  up 
and  down  the  aisle  of  the  House  of  Congress, 
even  through  the  worry  and  stress  of  the  Ding- 
ley  Tariff  Bill,  you  saw  in  him  a  kindness  so 
stamped  that  it  showed  through  the  slight 
snarl  of  expression  brought  on  by  overwork 
and  bad  light.  So  when  the  Sultan  turned 
to  help  his  little  tots,  who  were  playing 
generals,  he  was  Nelson  Dingley  turning, 
though  tired,  to  listen  to  the  jest  of  his  famous 
colleague,  Tom  Reed. 

Consider  the  handicap  of  being  born  to  be  a 
Sultan,  or  a  Czar,  or  a  King ;  of  being  deprived 
of  the  opportunity  of  meeting  the  common  peo- 
ple. Think  of  not  being  able  to  enjoy  a  fire- 
side chat  with  your  family,  or  of  the  influence 
of  a  wife.  Think  of  being  brought  up  to  know 
the  earth  only  by  its  maps  and  not  its  dirt  and 

[41]  - 


Abdul  Hamid  is  greeted  by  two  of  his  sons  at  the  steps  leading 

to  the  Mosque. 


THE  SULTAN  OF  TURKEY 

soil;  its  countries  by  the  uniforms  of  their 
armies  and  not  their  peoples;  to  know  just  a 
few  men  and  then  only  through  layer  after 
laj^er  of  cold,  gold  braid.  Think  of  the  ruler 
of  a  nation  who  has  never  had  the  opportunity 
of  knowing  personally  the  big,  broad-minded, 
natural  man  or  woman,  and  then  you  will  not 
wonder  at  him  for  not  having  a  fair  under- 
standing what  the  world  is  really  for.  The 
holder  of  such  a  throne  onlv  knows  what  the 
doorkeeper  to  the  throne  tells  him,  and  these 
keepers  naturally  tell  him  what  is  best  for  them 
and  for  the  people  nearest  them.  The  lessons 
that  are  in  the  lives  of  other  men  are  kept  from 
him.  He  does  not  even  know  how  they  lived, 
or  when  they  died.  I  have  heard  stories  of  the 
Sultan's  crueltv,  and  most  of  them  I  do  not  be- 
lieve.  If  he  is  cruel,  his  heart  and  face  do  not 
show  it. 

So  I  think  the  Turkish  system  is  more  to 
blame  for  the  Sultan's  ill  reputation  than  the 
Sultan  himself.  He  has  been  forced  to  be- 
come suspicious.  He  has  been  able  to  trust  no 
one  and  he  has  achieved  the  reputation  of  not 
being  trustworthy  himself.  This  digression 
will  explain  in  part  the  impression  reduced  to 
drawing  of  my  view  of  the  Sultan. 

[43]^ 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

A  greater  part  of  an  hour  must  have  passed, 
while  we  could  hear  singing  in  the  Mosque,  and 
as  the  Sultan  came  out,  he  kissed  the  hands  of  a 
general  of  the  Royal  Guard  and  then  half  knelt 
before  him.     The  fine  rug  was  re-spread  on 
the  marble  landing  and  a  carriage  was  drawn 
up  that  had  previously  gone  to  the  Mosque 
empty.     It  was  a  top-phaeton,  drawn  by  two 
white  Arabian  stallions,  with  long,  artificial 
like  looking  tails.     They  pranced,   but   were 
well  broken  and  behaved.     Two  grooms  in  gol- 
den robes  stood  at  their  heads.     There  was  a 
pause  and  then  everybody  opened  their  mouths 
and  yelled.     Guards  on  the  marble  stairway 
began  to  bow,  some  knelt,  and  slowly  this  frail, 
elderly  man,  with  black  coat  and  trousers,  with 
a  golden  vest  that  buttoned    up    under    his 
beard,  came  in  sight.     His  fez  was  red,  and 
the  only  other  color  was  in  the  small  plain 
bands  of  gold  on  each  shoulder.     He  touched 
his  lips  and  forehead  with  his  half-closed  hand 
and  with  the  same  mechanical  stiffness.     He 
tarried  on  the  stairway,  looked  across  over  the 
tired  looking  city,  turned  half  round,  and  saw 
a  thousand  cavalry  mounted  on  dapple-gray 
horses,  a  thousand  on  black  horses,  a  thousand 

[44] 


THE  SULTAN  OF  TURKEY 

on  bays,  an  equal  number  on  chestnuts,  all  hold- 
ing aloft  small  standards. 

Again  came  the  yell  that  echoed  over  in 
Asia.  One  of  the  princes  joined  his  father, 
who  climbed  into  the  doctor-like  phaeton  as  the 
top  was  lowered,  and  took  the  lines  where 
they  had  been  carefully  left,  properly  tucked 
between  the  white  whip  and  the  dashboard. 
The  grooms  left  the  stallions'  heads  and  the 
procession  started  back.  The  fine  white 
Arabs,  rolling  in  fat,  started  to  play,  and  the 
Sultan  popped  the  whip  on  the  loins,  with  the 
same  peculiar  jerk  that  common  cabmen  here 
use.  He  then  held  the  reins  and  whip  in  his 
left  hand,  and  saluted,  when  the  great  army, 
so  statue-like  and  cold,  fairly  knelt  to  the 
ground.  Back  of  his  carriage  pranced  a  black 
Arab  stallion,  and  back  of  him  a  fine  bay  one, 
with  white  feet  and  a  star  in  his  forehead,  and 
back  of  them  two  dapple  grays.  They  were 
saddled  and  bridled  in  rich  gold  trimmings, 
looking  fit  for  the  Minister  of  War.  But  they 
were  not  for  the  Minister  of  War.  They  were 
there  in  case  the  kindly  appearing  old  gentle- 
man might  want  to  ride.  He  did  not  care  to 
do  so  that  particular  day.  He  preferred  to 
drive  and  as  he  passed  up  through  the  big,  gol- 

[  45  ] 


a 

CD 

Is 
m 


a 

O 


.a 


a 

o 

bo 

a 


i=l 
c3 

xn 


THE  SULTAN  OF  TURKEY 

den  gates,  his  personality  was  that  of  an  old 
man  who  might  be  knitting.  He  led  you  to 
believe  that  you  had  actually  known  him  well,  a 
long,  long  time. 

Our  effort  was  to  get  out  of  the  Palace  as 
quickly  as  possible  and  draw  the  picture  which 
I  had  in  mind.  It  would  be  necessary  for  us 
to  get  some  miles  away,  as  we  were  already 
looked  upon  by  the  Turkish  spies  as  men  sent 
by  the  President  of  the  United  States  to  in- 
vestigate Armenian  trouble.  But  after  twenty 
minutes  ride  from  the  Palace,  Moore  sug- 
gested that  I  should  not  risk  going  further. 
He  said  I  ought  to  put  down  the  impression 
of  this  remarkable  old  gentleman  before  any- 
thing faded  from  my  memory.  So,  guarded 
by  two  big  stalwart  young  men,  I  made  a 
picture,  which  pleased  us  beyond  expression. 
I  had  got  at  something  which  made  the  draw- 
ing one  of  the  man  himself,  not  an  idealised 
Sultan.  It  soon  became  our  greatest  care  to 
know  how  to  protect  it.  Under  much  persua- 
sion we  showed  it  to  an  intimate  friend  of  the 
Sultan  in  Constantinople;  a  man  who  had 
known  him  for  forty  years.  After  I  had 
showed  it  to  him,  and  he  kept  looking  at  it,  I 
began  to  get  nervous.     It  dawned  on  me  all 

[47^ 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

at  once  that  if  he  said  that  the  picture  was  not 
a  good  Hkeness,  then  my  confidence  in  it  as  a 
likeness  would  be  destroyed.  But  soon  he 
closed  the  sketch  book  and  handed  it  to  me  with 
a  whisper:  "It  is  the  only  picture  of  him  ever 
made.  If  it  is  ever  known  that  you  have  it 
your  visit  to  the  Ottoman  Empire  will  be  a 
sad  one."  He  implored  us  not  to  write  to 
America  about  it,  but  to  keep  it  always  in  an 
inside  pocket  tightly  buttoned. 

We  thought  we  had  carried  out  these  instruc- 
tions. In  Aleppo  it  was  shown  to  only  one 
man,  and  out  in  the  desert  only  Akmut  Hafez 
and  Hashem  Bev  saw  it.  Yet  when  we  ap- 
proached  Alexandretta,  on  the  way  back,  an 
American  came  three  hours  ride  into  the  moun- 
tains to  meet  us  and  tell  us  that  the  Turkish 
spies  in  Alexandretta  knew,  or  thought  they 
knew,  that  I  had  a  picture  of  the  Sultan  with 
me.  He  told  us  that  if  this  picture  was  dis- 
covered all  my  horses  and  mares  would  be  con- 
fiscated, that  the  Irade  would  be  taken  away 
and  that  the  trip  would  count  for  nothing.  So 
we  put  the  sketch-book  containing  the  Sul- 
tan's picture,  in  the  middle  of  a  bale  of  hay, 
which  was  secretly  marked.  Then  we  took  two 
Arab  soldiers  into  our  confidence  and  told  them 

[48] 


r 


THE  SULTAN  OF  TURKEl^ 

to  keep  a  secret  watch  out  on  that  particular 
bale  of  hay.  When  we  arrived  in  Alexan- 
dretta,  the  spy,  who  had  seized  our  guns  on  our 
way  in,  hunted  through  everything,  but  failed 
to  find  what  he  was  after. 

I  had  collapsed  twice  that  morning  with  the 
intense  heat,  and  went  out  with  the  first  light- 
er of  horses  to  the  steamer.  No  greater  sigh 
of  relief  was  ever  heaved  than  when  I  saw  com- 
ing on  the  last  lighter  to  our  boat,  as  she  lay 
anchored  in  the  Mediterranean,  the  last  of  the 
horses  and  mares,  and  with  them  a  bale  of  hay, 
that  meant  more  than  all  the  other  bales  of  hay 
I  had  ever  seen. 


[49] 


CHAPTER  V 

FROM  CONSTANTINOPLE  TO  ANTIOCH 

Having  seen  the  Sultan  and  having  the 
Irade  confirmed  there  was  little  else  to  be  done 
in  Constantinople.  We  were  ready  and  even 
were  anxious  to  start  forward  to  accomplish 
the  real  end  of  the  trip.  From  the  beginning 
it  had  been  my  intention  to  go  to  El  Deyr  on 
the  Euphrates  and  there  purchase  horses  which 
I  might  be  assured  came  from  the  Anezeh 
themselves.  I  was  under  the  impression  at 
that  time  that  the  Anezeh,  not  often  coming  so 
far  north  as  El  Deyr,  would  only  be  found  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Palmyra,  that  "Tadmor 
in  the  Wilderness"  which  is  as  old  as  Solomon. 

In  Constantinople  my  views  about  going  to 
Deyr,  however,  were  somewhat  modified,  al- 
though my  plans  were  not  entirely  changed,  as 
will  be  told  further  on,  until  we  reached 
Aleppo. 

At  the  Pine  Palace  Hotel  in  Constantinople 

[50] 


CONSTANTINOPLE  TO  ANTIOCH 

we  met  Mr.  Forbes  of  the  firm  of  MacAndrews 
&  Forbes,  the  largest  dealers  in  liquorice  root 
in  the  world,  which  makes  its  exportations 
mainly  through  Alexandretta  or  Iskanderoon, 
as  it  is  locally  known.  Mr.  Forbes  is  intimate- 
ly acquainted  with  the  country  around  Aleppo 
and  knows  all  about  the  desert  beyond. 

Mr.  Forbes  laughed  at  the  idea  of  going  to 
the  Desert  at  that  time  of  the  year,  and  said 
that  we  ought  to  stay  in  Constantinople  at  least 
until  January  before  making  the  attempt.  He 
declared  that  we  would  be  unable  to  stand  the 
heat,  even  in  Aleppo,  and  that  because  the 
Bedouin  wars  had  been  so  many  and  frequent 
for  five  years,  his  firm  had  discontinued  the 
shipping  of  liquorice  from  points  near  Deyr. 
We  admitted  that  our  knowledge  such  as  it 
was,  had  been  gained  mainly  from  the  books  of 
Mr.  Wilfred  and  Lady  Anne  Blunt,  written 
thirty  years  before,  but  that  we  were  prepared 
to  go  to  Deyr  if  necessary. 

Mr.  Forbes  still  strongly  advised  against 
that  plan,  but  gave  us  ample  letters  to  his  peo- 
ple at  Alexandretta  and  Aleppo,  and  also 
cabled  them  that  we  were  coming.  Mr.  Forbes 
owned  an  Arab  horse  in  Smyrna  with  which  he 
had  won  the  Sultan's  cup  in  a  race,  and  had 

[51] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

been  trying  to  get  a  horse  he  had  heard  of  in 
Alepj)o.  This  was  a  great  brown  stallion 
which  had  been  recently  presented  to  the  Gov- 
ernor of  Aleppo.  The  Italian  Government 
had  tried  to  buy  him,  but  he  was  known  as  the 
"Pride  of  the  Desert,"  and  had  been  presented 
to  the  Governor  by  the  combined  Bedouin 
tribes. 

Nothing,  said  Mr.  Forbes,  could  persuade 
the  Governor  to  sell  him.  He  was  beyond  all 
value  and  price  in  the  estimation  of  the  Pasha. 
All  this  naturally  aroused  our  great  curiosity 
and  interest  and  we  were  more  eager  than  ever 
to  be  off,  little  thinking  how  well  we  were  to 
become  acquainted  with  the  desert's  pride  and 
his  owner. 

The  next  day  we  left  Constantinople  for 
Alexandretta  via  Beyrout,  Syria,  a  rather 
roundabout  voyage  of  eleven  days  with  numer- 
ous stops. 

In  Beyrout,  through  the  kindly  assistance  of 
United  States  Consul  Magelssen,  we  were  en- 
abled to  employ  as  interpreter  for  our  trip  to 
the  desert,  Ameene  S.  Zeytoun,  who  had  been 
in  the  employ  of  the  American  Government 
for  a  number  of  years,  and  who  spoke  English 
as  well  as  he  did  Arabic.     The  further  we  went 

[52] 


Ameen  Zaytown  of  the  American  Consulate  at  Beyrout,  who 
was  my  interpreter  to  the  Anezeh,  A  more  faithful  and  thought- 
ful young  man  I  have  never  met. 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

the  more  we  congratulated  ourselves  that  we 
had  been  able  to  secure  INIr.  Zeytoun's  serv- 
ices. He  was  of  the  greatest  aid  in  smoothing 
out  any  difficulties  which  arose  from  our  ig- 
norance of  the  language  or  the  customs  of  the 
people  and  was  always  diplomatic  and  courte- 
ous. 

Nevertheless  we  were  very  glad  to  get  away 
from  Beyrout.  We  saw  there  the  kind  of 
"Arab"  horse  which  could  readily  be  sold  to  the 
stranger  as  the  genuine  breed,  and  we  also 
encountered  the  crooked  horse  dealers  of  the 
East,  who  naturally  swear  to  anything  unless 
it  be  the  truth.  But  we  were  spared  from  fall- 
ing into  their  traps  and  it  was  daylight  on 
August  2nd,  when  the  noise  of  the  anchor 
chain,  as  it  rattled  down,  woke  me  up  as  we 
were  lying  off  Alexandretta.  I  had  been 
warned  against  Alexandretta  by  Chekib  Bey, 
the  Turkish  Ambassador  at  Washington,  as  a 
dangerous  place  to  stop  in  even  for  a  night 
and  further  bv  IMr.  Forbes,  who  said  it  was 
one  of  the  most  unhealthy  places  in  the  world, 
owing  to  the  mosquitoes,  and  the  fever  which 
followed  their  bite.  We  soon  had  first  class 
confirmation  of  these  warnings. 

Shortly  after  the  anchor  was  dropped,  two 

[54] 


CONSTANTINOPLE  TO  ANTIOCH 

Englishmen  came  aboard  and  asked  for  us. 
They  were  from  the  MacAndrews  &  Forbes 
Liquorice  Works.  One,  a  Mr.  Sneddon,  was 
very  sick  of  fever,  and  the  other  looked  to  be 
in  a  bad  way.  While  I  was  producing  a  letter 
from  Mr.  Forbes  Mr.  Sneddon  suddenly  grew 
faint,  and  the  other  man  apologized. 

"That  poor  fellow  is  down  with  the  fever 
again,"  he  remarked,  and  as  Sneddon  lay  down 
on  the  deck  he  added :  "It  will  only  be  for  a  mo- 
ment; he  will  be  all  right  presently."  Mr. 
Sneddon  lay  there  groaning,  but  after  a  few 
moments  he  straightened  up  and  read  the  let- 
ter.    That's  the  way  the  fever  takes  you. 

Then  we  went  ashore  and  as  soon  as  we 
landed  we  ran  against  the  ignorant  red-tape  of 
the  Turkish  empire.  All  of  our  guns  were 
seized,  except  a  three-barrelled  one  and  that 
was  exempted  because  the  officials  thought  that 
the  third  barrel  (a  rifle  one),  was  the  ramrod 
holder.  We  just  had  to  have  those  guns,  so 
after  breakfast  we  went  to  the  Custom  House 
where  the  Governor  of  the  town  was  closeted 
with  the  Collector  of  the  Port.  Both  these  offi- 
cials had  orders  from  Constantinople  to  pass 
our  sporting  rifles,  but  they  had  been  advised, 
they  said,  that  our  firearms  did  not  come  within 

[55  1 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

that  category  because  they  could  see  no  ram- 
rods attached  to  them.  It  was  futile  to  enter 
into  any  argument  and  we  soon  learned  what 
the  trouble  was. 

Al  Hami  Bey,  a  spy  of  the  government,  was 
the  trouble.  The  Governor  and  the  Collector 
were  afraid  of  him.  He  had  rumored  about 
the  town  that  we  were  gun  manufacturers  from 
America,  and  that  our  guns  were  only  samples 
of  what  we  were  taking  to  the  desert.  We 
drank,  it  seems  to  me,  as  I  look  back  on  it, 
coffee  by  the  gallon  and  smoked  cigarettes  by 
the  dozens,  but  nothing  came  of  these  official 
hospitalities.  We  could  not  get  our  guns  un- 
til further  and  more  explicit  instructions  came 
from  the  Sublime  Porte.  That  meant,  appar- 
ently that  we  should  have  to  wait  until  Al 
Hami  gave  the  word.  That  man  looked  to 
me  then  and  I  have  no  doubt  would  look  to 
me  now,  exactly  like  a  spy.  He  objected  to 
everything,  and  especially  everything  Amer- 
ican. It  is  this  kind  of  man  which  causes  the 
Sultan  of  Turkey  to  be  much  misunderstood. 
You  could  see  from  the  spy's  expression  that  he 
thought  Arthur  Moore  was  too  big,  physical- 
ly ;  and  he  was  sore  he  could  not  have  him  held. 
The  Turkish  spy  is  always  small. 

[56] 


CONSTANTINOPLE  TO  ANTIOCH 

But  the  guns  were  not  to  be  had.  That  was 
plain  after  what  I  had  heard  and  seen  and  I  did 
not  want  to  stay  an  hour  longer  in  the  place 
than  was  necessary.  So  we  decided  to  leave 
Jack  Thompson  behind  us  to  wait  for  the  cable 
from  Constantinople  and  bring  along  the  guns. 
He  was  to  be  taken  to  the  mountains  that  night 
away  from  the  mosquitoes  and  return  the  next, 
while  JNIoore,  Mr.  Sneddon,  the  sick  English- 
man and  myself,  together  with  three  soldiers 
as  bodyguards,  were  to  leave  for  Antioch,  eight 
hours  ride  toward  Aleppo. 

Personally  I  was  not  sorry  to  leave  Alexan- 
dretta.  It  is  a  miserable  place  built  in  the 
right  angle  of  the  Mediterranean,  between 
Syria  and  Asia  Minor.  It  is  a  small  town  with 
a  large  graveyard,  and  it  is  almost  shoved  into 
the  water  by  the  big  meaningless  mountains  at 
its  back.  At  a  quick  glance  it  would  suggest 
the  banks  of  the  upper  Snake  River,  in  the 
northwest.  The  people  have  a  washy  yellow 
complexion,  owing  to  the  fever  which  is  al- 
ways present. 

Its  mosquitoes  are  smaller  than  the  Jersey 
mosquitoes,  but  they  are  wilder,  and  have 
striped  legs.  They  are  the  most  deadly  species 
of  any  mosquitoes  in  the    Ottoman   Empire. 

[57]^ 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

When  you  once  become  aware  that  these  mos- 
quitoes are  dangerous  you  are  as  watchful  as 
if  they  were  yellow  jackets;  you  swing  at  the 
slightest  sound.  They  sing  in  a  higher  tenor 
key  than  the  Jerseyites.  They  are  even  still 
more  elusive  and  I  was  surprised  after  my  long 
experience  in  New  Jersey  that  I  could  not  kill 
one  of  these  natives  of  Alexandretta.  They 
were  as  wild  as  humming-birds,  and  in  their 
flying,  dipped  in  and  out  much  the  same 
fashion. 

As  Moore  and  I  drove  out  of  the  town  we 
saw  an  appalling  sight.  It  was  a  little  girl  of 
about  twelve  years  of  age,  whom  the  fever  had 
nearly  eaten  away.  She  was  coming  through 
a  graveyard  with  a  jug  of  water  on  her  head. 
Her  lips  were  so  drawn  that  her  teeth  were  all 
exposed  to  view,  and  her  arms  and  legs  were 
mere  skin  and  bone.  She  looked  as  though  she 
had  come  from  the  grave.  The  graveyard 
through  which  she  was  walking  was  a  low, 
marshy  place  where  water  buffalo  wallowed  in 
the  mud  among  the  rock-piled  graves.  Por- 
tions of  the  small  valley  between  the  town  and 
the  mountains  were  all  taken  up  with  swampy 
graveyards  swarming  with  mosquitoes.  It 
was  a  relief  to  get  out  of  Alexandretta. 

[58] 


CONSTANTINOPLE  TO  ANTIOCH 

But  as  soon  as  we  came  to  the  mountains  we 
arrived  at  what  seemed  to  be  the  chff  dwellers' 
home.  There  was  a  town  of  some  size,  built 
just  as  if  the  swallows  had  made  it  of  mud, 
hanging  from  the  mountains.  The  houses 
were  perched  on  top  of  each  other,  all  suspend- 
ed from  the  cliffs  above.  Water  rushed  in 
ditches  between  the  houses.  This  was  the  town 
of  Baylan,  the  first  place  of  safety  from  the 
fever  we  had  reached  since  leaving  the  sea  coast 
below. 

The  soldiers  rode  ahead  of  us  to  the  thickest 
part  of  the  village.  We  stopped  there  a  few 
moments  to  take  tea.  During  that  brief  space 
the  whole  population  gathered  around  leaving 
their  shops  to  take  care  of  themselves. 

We  were  now  traveling  on  the  finest  moun- 
tain road  I  had  ever  seen.  It  was  the  old 
ancient  Roman  road  and  the  same  one  over 
which  Darley's  Arabians  had  travelled  when 
he  was  taken  from  Aleppo  in  1703.  We  passed 
one  point  that  looked  dangerous;  we  could 
look  over  the  bank  more  than  two  hundred 
feet  down  to  the  jagged  rocks  below.  And 
then  on  and  on  we  climbed  over  this  wonderful 
mountain  pass. 

We    saw    small  boys     herding    long-eared 

[59] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

black  goats;  we  saw  the  packs  of  many  hun- 
dreds of  camels  stacked  at  the  roadside.  The 
camels  were  away  being  herded  in  the  moun- 
tains for  food.  Then  the  night  came  on  and 
we  could  not  see  anything. 


[60] 


CHAPTER  VI 


ANTIOCH  TO  ALEPPO 


We  reached  Antioch  at  11  o'clock  that  night. 
It  was  the  longest  eight-hour  ride  I  had  ever 
taken.  Shortly  after  we  had  left  Baylan  it 
began  to  become  dark  and  Moore  fell  asleep 
in  the  carriage.  Sneddon  had  been  groaning 
with  his  fever.  The  soldiers  were  afraid  to 
ride  on  for  fear  of  Circassian  bandits,  who  con- 
sider that  part  of  the  country  their  own.  A 
tire  came  off  the  front  wheel  and  the  near  horse 
dropped  a  shoe,  but  we  hammered  both  on  with 
rocks.  It  was  getting  quite  dark,  and  jackals 
were  barking  here  and  there. 

After  miles  and  miles  of  valley  road,  we  cir- 
cled a  lake  towards  some  high  rocky  peaks. 
As  we  got  near  to  Antioch  we  crossed  an  old, 
odd-patterned  rock  bridge,  crossing  the 
Pranties  River  and  I  woke  Arthur  and  the  sick 
man,  as  the  carriage  rattled  onto  the  Roman 
pavement  of  the  city.     Our  repeated  knocks 

[61] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

not  only  aroused  the  hotel-keeper,  but  all  the 
world,  wolf-like  dogs,  at  the  same  time. 

Our  host  was  most  civil  considering  the  time 
of  night.  That  is  to  say,  he  led  us  through 
damp  smelling,  rocky  mud  hallways  to  our 
room.  This  was  an  apartment  about  twelve 
feet  square,  that  had  windows  looking  out  over 
the  river.  We  were  a  scant  story  high.  Un- 
derneath was  a  stable  where  we    could    hear 


One    of    our   escorts   at    Antioch. 

camels  grumbling  and  donkeys  trying  to  bray 
and  not  quite  succeeding.  We  were  not  very 
talkative.  JNIoore  looked  at  me  as  if  he  wished 
he  had  never  seen  me.     I  smiled  a  smile  that 

[62] 


ANTIOCH  TO  ALEPPO 

was  meant  to  hurt  JNIoore,  but  hurt  me  worse. 
A  half-naked  filthy  servant  was  trying  to  make 
us  comfortable,  but  we  had  left  our  interpreter, 
Ameene  Zatoon,  with  Thompson  in  Alexan- 
dretta  and  we  could  not  understand.  Sneddon 
spoke  just  enough  Turkish  to  delay  things. 
The  servant  only  grinned  when  the  latter 
talked  and  soon  shuffled  off  apparently  going 
nowhere.  But  there  was  a  table  in  the  centre 
of  the  room  and  also  three  benches.  That  was 
enough.  We  lay  down  on  them  and  were 
soon  asleep. 

About  an  hour  after,  the  ragged  servant 
waked  us  up  and  invited  us  to  eat.  And  we 
ate.  What  it  was  we  never  knew  or  really 
cared — we  just  ate  it.  Part  of  it  was  a  sort  of 
l)read  with  which  we  sopped  up  the  rest.  All 
was  washed  down  with  boiling  hot  tea.  Then 
we  made  down  our  beds  on  the  benches.  Mean- 
time, I  looked  around  the  walls  and  at  some 
small  worn  holes  in  the  mud  plastering,  and 
roughly  guessed  the  plot.  Sure  enough  when 
the  lamp  went  out  the  real  hostilities  began.  I 
mistook  the  first  two  symptoms,  but  finally 
there  was  no  mistaking.  Moore  and  Sneddon 
were  asleep,  but  restlessly  so.  The  former 
fought  as  only  a  giant  would,  and  even  in  his 

[63] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

sleep  he  sat  up  and  pressed  the  button  on  a 
small  pocket  electric  lamp,  and  swept  the  in- 
vading hordes  onto  the  floor  as  fresh  recruits  to 
tackle  me.  I  had  previously  left  my  so- 
called  bed  for  the  floor.  Daylight  finally  came, 
and  it  marked  the  dawn  of  a  new  world's  rec- 
ord for  me.  It  was  the  longest  and  worst 
night  I  had  ever  put  in.  I  dressed  and  got 
Baedeker  and  was  not  surprised  at  the  way  he 
describes  the  people  of  Antioch — "The  popu- 
lation, consisting  of  Greeks  and  Syrian  ele- 
ments are  of  a  restless  character." 

When  JMoore  woke  up  I  read  that  sentence 
to  him  and  suggested  that  we  should  probably 
always  remember  what  it  was  that  made  them 
restless.  The  sun  hadn't  risen  yet,  but  I  found 
my  way  down  to  the  stables  and  the  yards  be- 
low. As  early  as  it  was,  the  town  and  the 
markets  were  astir.  For  a  long  time  I  watched 
the  curious  bargaining. 

For  instance,  just  about  sun-up,  an  old  Arab 
and  two  sons  came  into  the  yard  with  a  very 
old  donkey,  which  must  have  been  laden  with 
?iYe  or  six  hundred  pounds  of  some  kind  of 
dusty  grain.  The  feeble  old  Arab  left  imme- 
diately and  went  away  into  the  town.  The 
sons  spread  out  the  grain  for  exhibition,  but 

[64] 


ANTIOCH  TO  ALEPPO 

appeared  as  diffident  as  if  they  had  never  seen 
it.  The  father,  it  appeared,  had  gone  off  now 
to  get  buyers  to  come  and  see  his  grain,  which 
he  said  represented  the  year's  crop.  I  was 
anxious  to  see  the  return  of  this  old  agricul- 
turahst  of  a  type  so  different  from  the  farmers 
I  had  known  so  intimately  in  the  west.  Pres- 
ently the  old  Bedouin,  with  two  buyers,  re- 
turned. The  latter  seemed  to  understand  each 
other.  They  lifted  the  grain  in  their  hands,  ex- 
amined it  minutely,  and  then  slightingly  threw 

it  back. 

The  old  farmer  grabbed  up  handfuls  and 
winnowed  them  to  show  its  excellence,  but  the 
buyers  feigned  they  were  going  away  disgust- 
ed.    At  last  the  old  man  made  a  tearful  appeal 
and  the  bargain  comedy  was  well  on.     The  old 
man  asked  the  buyers  to  place  their  own  value 
on  the  grain ;  it  was  the  last  crop  he  would  ever 
raise ;  he  was  in  rags,  he  pleaded,  and  he  was 
only  asking  a  pittance  to  encourage  his  sons 
to  go  on  where  he  was  now  leaving  off.     A 
more  dramatic  appeal  was  never  made  to  a 
jury.     But  it  fell  on  deaf  ears.     I  was  ready 
to  buy  the  crop  and  give  it  back  to  him,  had  I 
been  nearer  home.     But  it  was  a  poor  place  to 
show  money,  so  I  swallowed  my  feelings  while 

[65] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

the  old  man  was  weeping  away  his  easily  dried 
tears  to  await  another  cold-hearted  buyer. 

After  that  there  was  little  to  do  and  it  was  a 
relief  when  we  left  the  old  creeping,  scratch- 
ing town,  jammed  full  of  restless  people. 

We  hadn't  found  anything  that  we  could  eat, 
and  were  beginning  to  get  restless  ourselves. 
We  were  to  wait  for  Thompson  at  the  junction 
of  the  Aleppo  road  at  Caru  Khan  (Inn)  for 
twenty-four  hours.  If  he  did  not  come  within 
that  time  we  were  to  go  on  to  Aleppo.  Mr. 
Sneddon  had  returned  with  the  carriage  and 
the  soldiers  to  Alexandretta  and  going  on  to 
the  Khan  we  waited.  There  was  absolutely 
nothing  to  do.  We  tried  to  sleep  on  a  veranda 
which  was  directly  on  the  road.  Our  revolvers 
were  handy  and  we  felt  safe  from  human  be- 
ings, but  that  was  all.  After  a  few  hours  we 
again  sat  up  just  for  spite. 

Camels  passed ;  several  hundred  at  a  time,  in 
single  file,  as  silently  as  if  they  were  ghosts. 
They  were  heavily  laden  with  liquorice  root, 
and  the  only  noise  that  came  from  them  was 
now  and  then  the  squeaking  of  a  pack.  At  the 
head  of  each  long  line  of  them  were  a  dozen  or 
so  small  donkeys,  like  a  school  of  minnows  lead- 
ing a  great  band  of  whales.     At  two  in  the 

[66] 


ANTIOCH  TO  ALEPPO 

morning  a  few  jackals  on  the  crest  of  the  hill 
one  hundred  yards  from  us,  howled  and  barked 
as  if  there  were  hundreds  of  them.  In  the  dis- 
tance we  heard  hyenas  laughing  in  answer. 

Then  came  more  camels.  Three  hundred 
and  eighty-six  of  them  passed  in  silent  proces- 
sion, making  scarcely  a  noise  with  their  mushy 
feet  and  all  slowly  weaving  towards  the  coast, 
laden  with  liquorice  root.  They  didn't  know 
it,  but  they  were  part  of  the  Tobacco  Trust. 
The  whole  of  this  load  of  liquorice  root  was 
for  shipment  to  America,  there  to  be  spat  upon 
the  ground  by  the  chewers  of  tobacco.  It 
seemed  quite  possible  that  a  large  part  of  what 
the  three  hundred  and  eighty-six  camels  had 
on  their  backs,  my  old  friend  Bill  Sterrett  of 
Texas  would  use  up  in  the  next  winter  alone, 
and  that  if  Bill  would  quit  chewing,  the  per- 
centage of  camels  that  pass  along  the  old 
Roman  road  would  be  noticeably  less  in  the 
future.  Up  to  date  I  have  not  heard  that  Bill 
has  reformed. 

Morning  came  and  we  tried,  by  signs,  to 
show  that  we  wanted  to  eat ;  but  it  was  hard  to 
make  ourselves  understood,  and  we  lived  on  the 
scantiest  rations  through  the  hot  day. 

As  evening  came  we  saw  some  camel  drivers 

[67] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

eating  grapes,  and  our  signs,  more  strenuous 
from  hunger,  made  them  understand  that  we 
wanted  some.  They  gave  and  we  tried  to 
pay,  but  the  chief  of  the  party  let  us  know 
that  we  were  welcome  without  price.  He 
then  took  us  to  where  there  were  more  grapes. 
Finally  we  found  a  native  who  could  talk  three 
or  four  words  of  English,  and  for  these  words 
we  made  his  old  age  peaceful  and  prosperous 
by  reason  of  the  currency  we  heaped  upon  him. 
He  soon  began,  with  this  capital  at  his  back,  to 
order  men  here  and  there,  and  through  our  sign 
language  and  the  word  "Haleb"  ( Alepj)o) ,  he 
understood  where  we  wanted  to  go.  We  could 
see,  however,  because  we  were  such  easy  marks, 
that  he  hated  to  understand.  But  about  seven 
o'clock  he  kept  saying  the  word  "Post," 
"Post,"  and  at  last  we  gathered  that  at  nine 
o'clock  that  evening  the  post  coach  on  the  way 
to  Aleppo,  would  stop  at  the  Khan  and  that 
he  would,  with  our  money,  approach  the  big 
Khowa j  a  ( the  conductor  who  carries  the  mail ) 
and  with  more  money  we  might  bribe  the  great 
Turkish  official  to  let  us  ride  in  the  coach. 
Moore  and  I  were  skeptical  about  this,  but  cu- 
riously enough  at  nine  o'clock  along  came  the 
stage  coach.     The  horses,  four  abreast,  were 

[68] 


ANTIOCH  TO  ALEPPO 

on  the  dead  run.  Four  soldiers  galloped  with 
the  coach,  two  at  each  side,  armed  with  old- 
fashioned  rifles.  The  stage  halted,  and  with 
great  pomp  the  Director  General  alighted. 
He  was  ushered  up  on  the  porch  of  the  post- 
office,  where  a  feast  of  unusual  proportion  was 
spread  for  him.  Arthur  and  I  were  kept  back 
till  the  briber,  with  our  money,  went  forth.  He 
began  bowing  twenty  feet  before  he  got  to  the 
great  man  and  finally  crawled  up  to  him  as  he 
made  known  his  mission.  He  dropped  two 
gold  pieces  in  his  hands,  and  the  agent,  with 
much  dignity,  was  open  to  reason.  Finally  w^e 
were  brought  forward  and  came  like  two 
whipped  servants,  but  we  were  for  doing  any- 
thing for  the  opportunity  to  get  away. 

So  after  giving  more  gold,  we  were  ordered 
into  the  low  leather-covered  carry-all  and  there 
lay  in  a  half  leaning,  half  sitting  position, 
afraid  to  complain  for  fear  we  should  be  put 
off  after  all.  But  the  gold  had  done  its  work 
and  we  were  not  disturbed.  They  were  now 
hitching  four  stallions  to  the  nondescript 
vehicle — two  grays  and  two  bays.  They  were 
better  looking  animals  than  w^e  had  seen  on  the 
carriages  at  Beyrout,  or  in  fact  at  any  place 
along  the  coast.     They  were  hard    and   well 

[69] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

kept,  and  wanted  to  get  at  their  task.  New 
soldiers  took  up  their  positions  at  each  side  of 
the  coach.  The  driver  chmhed  into  his  seat  and 
beside  him  sat  the  man  of  dignity  with  a  heavy 
rifle  in  his  lap  and  our  gold  in  his  pocket.  A 
groom  pulled  the  mane  from  under  the  horses' 
collars  and  then  with  a  peculiar  low  note  from 
the  driver,  we  were  off  at  a  gallop.  At  first 
we  thought  it  was  a  runaway,  but  seeing  no  at- 
tempt was  made  to  hold  the  horses  back  we 
came  to  the  right  conclusion  that  that  was  the 
regular  schedule. 

It  was  a  wild  night's  ride.  I  was  lying  in  a 
cramped  position  on  the  mail  sacks,  but  the 
thrill  of  the  rough  rapid  pace  made  my  cheeks 
first  hot  then  cold.  In  the  dim  moonlight  the 
Arab  soldiers  galloping  beside  us,  were  like 
silhouettes  and  rode  like  our  Indians  of  the  far 
west.  Down  a  long  slope  we  dashed  into  a 
valley.  My  eyes  were  fairly  popping  with  ex- 
citement, though  Arthur  was  dozing.  Of 
course  we  had  the  best  of  the  mail  sacks,  the 
soldiers  had  spread  out  to  detect  any  possible 
danger.  While  the  four  stallions  were  gallop- 
ing true  and  strong,  the  driver  suddenly  yelled 
a  long  "Yeo!"  "Yeo!"  "Yeo!"  I  saw  the 
soldiers  dash  ahead,   drew  my  revolver  and 

[70] 


ANTIOCH  TO  ALEPPO 

shook  Arthur,  but  couldn't  wake  him.  But 
just  as  I  expected  to  hear  shots,  I  heard  the 
gurghng  of  camels,  and  these  heavy  laden, 
tired-looking  creatures  were  beaten  out  of  the 
mail  coach's  right  of  way. 

Our  route  then  wound  around  the  base  of  the 
mountain,  and  I  could  see  a  large  band  of  jack- 
als. At  a  halt,  after  passing  hundreds  of 
camels,  we  changed  horses,  and  took  on  three 
dark  bays  or  chestnuts,  and  one  gray,  and  off 
we  were  again.  Soon  we  passed  a  camel  train. 
One  of  the  beasts,  a  young  one  apparently, 
growled  plaintively  when  he  fell  in  a  gutter  and 
his  heavy  pack  turned  him  in  his  fall  till  his 
light-colored  belly  loomed  up  in  the  moon- 
light. Feet  in  the  air,  he  struggled  while  the 
Bedouins  laughing,  tried  to  quiet  him. 

We  changed  horses  again  before  daylight, 
and  a  pup  that  hung  around  the  horses  was 
presented  to  me  by  the  agent,  and  I  tried  to  be 
polite  in  refusing  the  gift.  We  had  a  chance 
to  stretch  our  legs,  and  Moore  began  to  com- 
ment on  the  wonderful  beauties  of  the  ride. 
He  had  slept  through  it  all,  but  that  made  no 
difference  to  him.  He  really  thought  he  had 
been  awake  and  wanted  to  know  if  I  had  seen 
things  that  had  not  happened. 

171  y 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

The  sun  rose  hot,  and  at  first  felt  comfort- 
able after  the  rush  of  the  night.  The  roadbed 
was  now  strewn  with  small,  round,  loose  stones 
about  the  size  of  hens'  eggs  and  worn  smooth 
by  the  cushioned  feet  of  camels. 

The  last  change  of  horses  was  truly  remark- 
able. There  were  only  three  this  time  and  they 
looked  like  old  moth-eaten  silk  rugs.  Two 
were  white  and  silvery;  the  third  was  a  bay 
with  a  coat  as  bright  as  gold.  We  saw  them 
gallop  over  the  stones  for  six  or  eight  miles, 
and  when  they  stopped  for  water,  the  bay 
pawed  the  stones  and  had  to  be  held  while  the 
others  drank.  We  both  commented  time  and 
again  on  what  our  best  horses  would  become 
under  such  conditions.  From  their  appear- 
ance, these  animals  were  of  great  age,  and  cer- 
tainly their  usage  had  been  the  hardest  jDossible. 
Still,  their  legs  were  as  clean  as  those  of  a  colt. 

Our  entry  into  Aleppo  was  made  in  the  fore- 
noon. The  sun  was  as  hot  as  it  could  possibly 
be,  without  burning  things — and  we  came  in 
on  the  dead  run.  They  put  us  out  in  the 
suburbs,  because  the  mail  officer  (honest  man!) 
was  afraid  we  should  be  seen.  The  mail  driver 
made  us  understand  by  his  motions  and  the 
word  "Arabeeye"   (carriage),  that   he   would 

[72] 


ANTIOCH  TO  ALEPPO 

send  a  vehicle  for  us  to  take  us  to  the  best 
hotel,  so  we  sat  down  at  the  side  of  the  chalky- 
like  clay  streets,  in  the  shadow  of  an  artificial- 
looking  ^g  tree,  and  eventually,  the  carriage 
coming,  we  drove  into  the  town. 

For  years  I  had  imagined  an  entirely  differ- 
ent Aleppo.  I  had  pictured  it  as  built  in  an 
oasis  of  the  desert,  with  beautiful  wide  streets, 
clean  and  well-kept  and  lined  with  palm  trees. 
I  was  wrong.  In  reality  it  is  a  city  built  of 
stone  and  mud.  It  has  been  tumbled  down  so 
many  times  by  earthquakes,  that  it  looks  as 
tired  as  the  old  Roman  road  which  leads  up  to 
it.  Our  driver  turned  into  a  small  street  not 
wide  enough  for  two  carriages  to  pass.  The 
dogs  were  more  plentiful  than  they  were  in 
Constantinople,  and  the  stench  was  much 
worse.  On  the  faces  of  all  the  young  people 
were  the  sores  of  the  Aleppo  button,  and  on 
those  of  the  older  ones  were  the  scars  left  bv 
that  disease,  and  this  added  to  our  general  de- 
pression. We  were  half  starved,  and  tired  out 
from  the  night  ride  and  the  effects  of  the  sun. 
Our  spirits  were  low.  To  tell  the  truth  we  were 
thoroughly  broken  down.  We  had  cold  feet, 
although  it  was  125  degrees  in  the  shade.  The 
stench  grew  worse,  and  as  the  streets  narrowed 

[73  J 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

down,  and  the  people  followed  the  carriage  to 
have  a  better  look  at  us,  I  said  to  Moore,  that 
if  the  driver  stopped  then,  and  asked  us  to  get 
out  at  a  hotel,  I  believed  I  would  collapse.  I 
had  already  given  up.     The  letters  which  I  had 

in  my  pocket  and 
the  Irade  permit- 
ting me  to  export 
horses  and  mares, 
were  losing  their 
stimulating  pow- 
er. For  years 
my  idea  had  been 
so  different  of 
Aleppo,  that  the 
shock  was  more 
than  I  could 
stand.  Then 
while  this 
thought  was  in 
my  mind,  in  the 
midst  of  the 
very  worst  street  and  next  to  a  most  ill-smell- 
ing shop,  our  driver  halted,  and  motioned  to 
us  to  get  out.  Arthur  refused  to  get  out  of  the 
carriage  and  as  one  of  us  had  to  do  so,  I  did  and 
walked  in  to  what  they  called  a  hotel.     They 

[T4] 


Old  methods  of  travel   giving  way 
to  the  new  in  Aleppo. 


ANTIOCH  TO  ALEPPO 

were  driving  a  mangy  dog  and  a  dozen 
puppies  out  of  the  room  which  was  to  be  ours, 
but  I  couldn't  take  it.  A  man  came  and  asked 
me  if  I  could  speak  French,  and  although  I 
couldn't,  I  held  on  to  him  bv  the  arm.  The 
natives  could  not  understand  "America"  or  rec- 
ognize that  word.  Then  Moore  suggested 
"Mac Andrews  &  Forbes,"  and  the  man  who 
spoke  French  took  us  to  his  place,  where  we 
met  a  protector  in  the  form  of  a  young  En- 
glishman of  the  name  of  Beard,  and  we  hung 
to  him  on  both  sides.  He  took  us  to  a  bet- 
ter hotel,  where  they  had  a  garden;  that  is, 
in  the  court,  they  had  a  potted  palm  or  two, 
and  in  a  little  dusty  corral  a  fat-tailed  sheep,  a 
donkey  and  a  few  chickens.  It  was  as  clean 
as  a  hotel  could  be  in  Aleppo,  and  most  of  the 
foreign  consuls  ate  there  of  evenings;  some 
of  them  slept  there  two  or  three  nights  of  the 
week — and  then  tried  some  other  place.  I  had 
not  had,  to  my  knowledge,  any  sleep  on  the 
coach  and  Moore  refused  to  admit  that  he  had 
had  any,  so  we  immediately  went  to  bed. 

The  next  morning  at  daylight  Jack  Thomp- 
son came,  with  our  interpreter  and  the  guns. 
He  had  lost  one  of  his  teams  over  a  high  preci- 
pice and  he  and  the  interpreter  had  almost  lost 

[75] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

their  lives.  A  camel  train  had  crowded  them 
as  they  came  along  in  the  night,  and  just  as 
the  team  fell  over  the  bank  and  tore  itself  out 
of  the  old  harness,  the  men  jumped  out  in  the 
nick  of  time.  Barring  this  incident  Thompson 
had  some  sleep  and  was  feeling  better  than 
either  Moore  or  myself.  He  was  quite  excited 
at  being  in  Aleppo. 


[76] 


CHAPTER  VII 

AKISIET  HAFFEZ  AND  THE  ^YAR  MARE 

E\t:n  the  arrival  of  Jack  Thompson  with 
the  guns  could  not  get  me  out  of  the  blues.  Of 
course  we  were  in  Aleppo  (not  the  Aleppo  I 
had  imagined!) ,  but  it  did  not  seem  likely  that 
we  should  get  much  further.  We  had  had 
nothing  but  discouragement  from  the  MacAn- 
drews  &  Forbes  people  and  I  began  to  believe 
that  our  journey  was  over  without  the  accom- 
plishment of  what  I  thought  I  was  so  well 
equipped  to  carry  out.  I  was  utterly  down  in 
the  mouth.  Moore  and  Thompson  evidently 
thought  that  something  should  be  done  to  cheer 
me  up  (though  they  themselves  were  pretty 
melancholy)  and  so  decided  that  if  they  could 
get  me  to  some  shop  with  an  atmosphere  of 
horse  about  it,  I  might  be  brought  into  a  better 
frame  of  mind.  Accordingly,  with  our  inter- 
preter, and  with  Beard,  as  a  guide,  we  started 

[77] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

for  the  shops  where  they  made  the  saddles  and 
bridles,  and  horse  trimmings  which  were  used 
in  the  desert.  In  the  poorly  ventilated  bazaars 
hundreds  of  Bedouins  crowded  around  to  look 
at  us.  The  ignorant  stared  while  the  better 
bred  greeted  us  politely.  To  see  three  stran- 
gers, the  smallest  of  whom  stood  six  feet  one 
and  a  half  inches,  was  a  sight  to  them.  They 
peered  at  us  genteely,  and  asked  the  interpreter 
if  we  were  "Engleese."  They  shook  their 
heads,  as  he  explained  that  we  were  "Americs" 
and  wanted  to  know  where  "Americ"  was. 

While  we  were  at  the  saddlery  place,  in  the 
crowd  of  Bedouins  looking  on,  I  saw  one  who 
looked  a  little  darker  than  the  rest  and  whose 
teeth  were  peculiarly  white.  I  remembered 
reading  in  one  of  the  Blunt's  books,  that  the 
Anezeh  tribe  had  peculiarly  white,  chalk-like 
teeth  and  I  at  once  told  Ameene,  the  interpre- 
ter, to  ask  this  Bedouin  if  he  knew  anything 
about  the  Anezeh.  We  had  heard  at  Beyrout 
that  the  tribe  was  then  two  or  three  hundred 
miles  south  of  Palmyra.  Moore,  in  a  good- 
humored,  sarcastic  way,  said:  ''Here,  if  you 
are  going  to  try  and  find  the  Anezeh  in  Aleppo, 
I  will  quit  you;  this  man  never  heard  of  the 
Anezeh,  he  is  a  camel  driver."     While  the 

[78] 


AKMET  HAFFEZ  AND  THE  MARE 

translation  was  made  to  the  Arab  his  eyes  grew 
very  expressive  and  round,  and  he  said  in 
return.  "The  Anezeh  are  within  ten  hours' 
ride  of  Aleppo ;  I  am  a  member  of  one  of  the 
sub-tribes  and  have  just  come  from  them." 

At  this  JNIoore  and  Beard  laughed  and  went 
off  in  disgust  to  look  at  some  silk  rugs.     I  let 
them  go  without  a  word.     In  a  moment  I  saw 
another  Bedouin,  an  older  man  with  a  grayish 
beard,  but  with  the  same  peculiar  white  teeth, 
and  from  him,  too,  I  inquired  the  whereabouts 
of  the  Anezeh.     His  answer    confirmed    the 
story  of  the  first  and  he  added  something  that 
brought  me  back  to  my  normal  spirits.     He 
declared  that  Hashem  Bey,  the  Sheikh  of  all 
Sheikhs,  was  then  in  Aleppo  paying  a  secret 
visit  to  a  man  named  Akmet  Haffez,  the  diplo- 
matic ruler  of  the  desert.     He  offered  to  take 
us    to   the   house    of    Akmet    Haffez.     Jack 
Thompson's  eyes  began  to  sparkle  again,  and 
Ameene  grew  excited.     If  this  were  true,    it 
seemed  beyond  a  doubt  that  we  could  buy  our 
horses  directly  from  the  Anezeh  tribe  itself.    It 
was  no  longer  a  question  of  going  to  Deyr. 

We  lost  no  time  in  getting  into  a 
carriage  in  which  we  drove  through  the 
narrow,  dirty  streets  for  a  long  way,  passing 

[  79  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

old  crumbling  grave-stones  in  the  middle  of 
the  town  and  then  to  the  outskirts,  and  up  to  a 
two-story  stone  and  mud  house.  Our  cavass 
went  inside,  w^as  gone  five  minutes,  and  re- 
turned. We  were  taken  upstairs  to  an  inside 
large  room  showing  every  sign  of  wealth.  The 
furniture  was  spotted  with  inlaid  pearl,  and 
the  divan,  which  ran  all  round  the  room,  was 
of  purple  plush  with  gold  and  silver  ornaments. 
Scattered  over  the  divan  were  rifles  that  looked 
ready  for  action.  Before  we  had  time  to  think 
that  this  was  strange,  as  only  the  soldiers  were 
allowed  rifles,  everybody  else  in  the  room  stood 
up  and  we  too  arose.  Then  slowly  and  with  a 
stride  like  that  of  Sir  Henry  Irving,  a  noble, 
elderly  looking  Arab  came  forward.  Any- 
where he  would  have  attracted  instant  atten- 
tion. He  looked  like  a  bronze  Grover  Cleve- 
land in  his  last  years.  His  eyes  fairly  glowed 
with  smiles  as  he  bowed  low  on  the  magnificent 
silk  rugs.  This  was  Akmet  Haffez,  the  ruling 
Prince  of  all  the  Desert !  He  took  a  seat  on  the 
divan  and  as  servants  put  soft  pillows  beside 
him,  he  pointed  to  me  to  take  a  seat  at  his  right. 
His  slippers  fell  carelessly  off  as  he  drew  his 
feet  up  under  him  in  Turkish  fashion.  In- 
stantly a  slave  was  pouring  into  small  thumb- 

[80] 


AKMET  HAFFEZ  AND  THE  INIARE 

like  cups  coffee  which  we  had  to  drink,  lest  an 
insult  might  be  offered. 

Ameene,  our  interpreter,  now  spoke,  and 
told  him  why  our  sudden  call  was  made  and 
Akmet  Haffez  told  us  that  Hashem  Bey,  the 
Sheikh  of  the  Anezeh,  had  been  his  guest  for 
ten  days,  but  had  gone  the  night  before,  back 
to  his  tribe,  which  was  encamped  at  a  distance 
of  ten  or  twelve  hours'  ride. 

The  dignified  old  gentleman  then  learned  we 
were  the  people  who  had  been  in  Antioch  three 
nights  before. 

"These  then,"  he  asked,  "are  the  people,  one 
of  whom  has  an  Irade  from  the  Sultan  of  Tur- 
key, and  letters  from  the  one  Great  Sheikh  of 
all  the  Americ  tribes?" 
"Yes,"  he  was  told. 

The  old  man's  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  he 
looked  at  me,  and  his  slaves  and  secretaries 
grew  more  interested,  when  turning  toward 
Ameene  he  said: 

"Then  you  have  called  on  me  before  call- 
ing on  the  Governor  of  Aleppo  and  Syria. 
No  such  honor  was  ever  paid  to  a  Bedouin  be- 
fore, and  if  I  should  live  to  be  one  hundred 
years  old,  my  smallest  slave  would  honor  me 
more  for  this  visit." 

[81] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

He  was  much  moved  and  so  was  I;  not  so 
much  because  I  seemed  so  unexpectedly  to  have 
attamed  my  fondest  hopes,  as  because  I  had 
met  with  a  man.  It  was  difficult  to  find  exact- 
ly the  right  thing  to  say  through  an  interpreter, 
but  this  fine  old  Bedouin  was  equal  to  the 
occasion.  Repressing  his  emotion  he  said  with 
a  deprecating  smile : 

"But  after  all  you  have  not  come  here  to  see 
men.  Better  than  that  you  have  come  to  see 
horses,  and  I  would  be  selfish  if  I  kept  you 
longer  from  seeing  the  greatest  mare  of  our 
country — the  war  mare  of  the  Great  Hashem 
Bey — the  mare  from  whose  back  he  killed, 
among  others,  his  most  distinguished  enemy." 

A  servant  was  dispatched  for  her.  She  was, 
Akmet  Haffez  said,  a  present  to  him  from  the 
Great  Sheikh,  who  had  just  been  his  guest; 
that  in  their  religious  custom  no  present  could 
equal  her;  nothing  but  a  gift  from  Allah,  him- 
self, could  surpass  her. 

The  servant  returned  and,  led  by  the  hand 
of  this  old  man  who  was  so  impressing  his  in- 
dividuality upon  us,  we  went  down  to  the  court 
yard.  There  stood  a  black  slave  groom  with 
two  mares,  a  chestnut  and  a  small  bay.  Sev- 
eral hundred  Bedouins  and  townspeople  had 

[82] 


AKMET  HAFFEZ  AND  THE  MARE 

gathered,  but  they  fell  back  leaving  an  empty 
space  for  the  mares. 

The  war  mare,  the  present  from  the  Supreme 
Ruler,    was    the    chestnut.      She    seemed    to 


My  Royal  Present,  Wadduda,  the  War  Mare,  with  Said  Abdalla 

be  fretting  to  get  out  of  the  only  town  she 
had  ever  been  in.  In  her  highly  carried  tail, 
I  saw  some  blue  beads  tied  gracefully  in  her 
hair.  I  knew  they  were  to  keep  off  the  "Evil 
Eye."  I  went  up  to  her,  but  she  put  back 
her  ears  as  if  she  would  bite  or  strike  or  kick. 
It  appears  that  I,  in  European  dress,  was  the 
worst  object  she  had  ever  seen.  Her  name 
they  told  me  was  "Wadduda,"  meaning  love; 
that  she  was  a  Sesrlawie  Al  Abed,  seven  years 

[83^] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

old  and  had  been  the  favorite  war  mare  of 
Hashem  Bey  for  four  years.  She  didn't  like 
the  town,  she  wanted  to  go — and  those  who  told 
me  pointed  to  the  desert. 

Two  fine  looking  young  men  came  up. 
Thev  were  introduced  as  sons  of  Akmet  Haf- 
fez,  who  proudly  referred  to  them  as  horse- 
men. The  crowd  was  dense  by  this  time,  and 
the  excitement  ran  high  when  the  Bedouins 
were  told  that  I  had  called  on  Akmet  Haffez 
before  I  had  called  on  Nazim  Pasha,  the  Gov- 
ernor. Many  of  the  rank  and  file  kissed  the 
old  Sheikh's  hand  in  joy.  Others  came  close 
and  touched  their  cheeks  to  his. 

In  the  meantime,  the  older  son  Ali,  who  had 
galloped  down  a  stony  street  on  the  war  mare, 
cried  out  and  was  turning  to  come  back.  In 
a  moment,  she  came  tearing  down  toward  us 
all  afire,  and  the  bounding  tassels  around  her 
knees,  looked  like  silk  skirts.  Such  action 
over  such  rolling  rocks!  Her  tail  was  high 
and  her  eyes  fairly  sparkled ! 

The  son  then  rode  the  bay,  a  smaller  Abeyeh 
Sherrakieh,  with  the  greatest  jibbah  or  fore- 
head, I  ever  saw.  This  small  mare  had  even 
more  fire  than  the  other  and  we  were  afraid 
for  a  moment  that  some  child  would  be  hurt 

[84] 


AKMET  HAFFEZ  AND  THE  MARE 

in  the  midst  of  her  play  and  froUc.  After  this 
exhibition  Akmet  Haffez  led  the  way  to  the 
court  of  his  stables  across  the  streets  through 
the  gates  in  a  high  mud  wall  and  ordered  the 
mares  to  be  taken  into  an  enclosure  where  he 
had  many  horses  picketed.  Before  the  big 
gates  were  closed  he  called  by  name  several  of 
the  elder  Bedouins  and  as  they  came  through 
they  touched  and  kissed  his  hand. 

The  gates  were  then  closed,  and  he  stopped 
and  extended  his  open  hand  as  if  to  grasp  mine. 
As  I  advanced  to  take  his  hand,  his  other 
gracefully  warded  me  back.  All  this  time  the 
old  Sheikh  was  talking  in  an  emotional  voice 
to  the  interpreter.  I  was  fearful  for  the  mo- 
ment that  I  had  offended  him  in  some  way, 
though  I  could  hardly  think  how.  I  looked 
upon  Ameene  to  explain.  I  saw  the  inter- 
preter's face  grow  full  of  astonishment  and 
wonder,  and  turning  to  me  he  said : 

"It  appears  that  we  have  made  a  diplomatic 
blunder  in  calling  on  this  man  before  we  have 
called  on  the  Governor,  and  he  feels  so  deeply 
affected  by  it,  that  he  wants  you  to  take  his 
hand,  but  not  unless  vou  can  accept  the  great 
war  mare  as  his  present  to  you,  with  the 
Bedouin  boy  that  now  holds  her.     Her  name  is 

[85] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

to  remain  the  same,  Wadduda.  He  hopes  that 
when  you  speak  the  name  it  will  bear  living 
witness  of  his  love  to  you  and  that  the  gift 
and  its  acceptance  will  be  the  forming  of  a 
friendship  and  later  of  a  brotherhood  that  will 
never  end." 

I  was  so  much  concerned  at  this,  that  I  asked 
Ameene  if  I  could  accept  such  a  present.  The 
interpreter  told  me  that  under  ordinary 
circumstances  1  could  not,  but  under  these 
conditions,  I  would  insult  Akmet  if  I  did  not 
comply  with  his  wish. 

So  I  accepted  the  mare  and  the  hand  of 
brotherhood  and  the  old  Bedouin  ruler  seemed 
very  happy.  He  told  me  that  no  money  could 
buy  the  blue  beads  from  the  mare's  tail,  and 
that,  for  the  moment  at  least,  seemed  true. 
When  Akmet  Haffez  learned  that  Thompson 
was  my  traveling  companion  he  immediately 
presented  him  with  a  young  gray  stallion.  I 
am  sorry  that  I  did  not  have  a  moving  picture 
machine  so  as  to  have  photographed  the  antics 
of  Jack  when  he  realized  that  this  horse  was 
his.  But  in  his  demonstrations  of  joy,  he 
brushed  by  and  reminded  me  that  a  little 
over  an  hour  before  I  was  suffering  intensely 

[86] 


Nazin  Pasha,  His  Excellency  the  Governor  of  Aleppo. 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

from  a  malady  called  "blues"  and  asked  me, 
as  he  pinched  my  side,  if  I  had  them  now. 

Akmet  Haffez  was  soon  dispatching  a  mes- 
senger on  a  Delule  (racing  camel)  to  the  Ane- 
zeh.  When  we  inquired  why,  he  said  he  was 
telling  them  not  to  move  tent,  or  go  into  war, 
for  he  was  coming  the  next  day  with  us  and 
that  it  was  his  first  visit  to  his  tribes  in  nearly 
thirty  years. 

Accompanied  by  Akmet  Haffez  we  then 
called  upon  Nazim  Pasha,  the  Governor  of 
Aleppo.  The  Governor  received  us  warmly 
despite  our  break  in  etiquette.  He  sent  for 
coffee  and  cigarettes,  and  lit  mine  for  me.  We 
talked  of  many  things.  He  held  a  letter  from 
President  Roosevelt  in  one  hand,  and  pointed 
to  God  with  the  other.  Then  he  said  a  prayer. 
He  told  us  that  God  must  have  brought  us  to 
Akmet  Haffez.  At  this  point  the  old  Bedouin 
slid  off  the  divan,  and  knelt  in  prayer.  The 
Governor  continued  that  he  wanted  Haffez  to 
take  us  to  the  Great  Anezeh,  at  which  Haffez 
slipped  off  the  lounge  again,  like  a  mountain 
sheep,  and  again  knelt  in  prayer.  When  told 
of  the  present  I  had  received  the  Governor 
bowed  and  touched  his  forehead,  issuing  a 
characteristic  grunt  in  a  deep  bass.     He  was 

[88] 


AKMET  HAFFEZ  AND  THE  MARE 

anxious  to  see  my  Irade,  and  again  he  seemed 
to  ask  a  blessing  as  it  was  being  translated  to 
him.  He  told  us  as  Akmet  Haffez  had  al- 
ready done,  the  story  we  had  heard  in  Constan- 
tinople, of  his  brown  stallion,  a  Maneghi 
Sbej^el,  a  present  to  him  from  the  combined 
tribes.  He  insisted  that  we  must  come  the 
next  day  to  his  stables  and  see  the  horse. 

When  we  got  back  to  the  hotel  Moore  was 
there,  and  he  began  to  laugh  and  asked  us  if 
we  had  found  the  Anezeh.  We  pretended  for 
a  w^hile  that  we  had  been  fooled,  but  he  saw 
that  we  were  enthusiastic  over  something  and 
we  could  not  hide  the  truth.  None  of  us  could 
sleep  that  night,  because  we  were  to  start  for 
the  Anezeh  tribe  the  next  afternoon,  where 
w^e  should  see  members  of  every  big  tribe  of 
Bedouins  that  go  to  make  up  the  Anezeh  peo- 
ple. And  all  this  due  to  a  simple  question 
about  a  Bedouin  and  his  white  teeth. 


[89] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  WAR  MARE  GREETS  THE  DESERT 

At  ten  the  next  morning  we  went  with 
Akmet  Haffez  to  the  Governor's  residence. 
Nazim  Pasha  had  promised  to  let  us  see  the 
"Pride  of  the  Desert,"  the  great  brown  stal- 
lion presented  to  him  by  the  Bedouins.  I  was 
glad  to  have  that  opportunity  for  Mr.  Forbes 
had  already  told  me  of  the  horse  as  you  will 
remember ;  but  the  heat  was  stifling,  the  reflec- 
tion of  the  sun  from  the  red  and  white  sand 
was  killing  and  I  was  anxious  to  get  off  to  the 
Anezeh  with  Akmet  Haffez. 

Frankly  I  did  not  expect  much  of  the  "Pride 
of  the  Desert."  I  really  resented  the  waste  of 
time  involved  in  this  call  on  the  Governor. 
Especially  hard  was  it  to  go  through  the  mo- 
tions of  drinking  coffee  and  smoking  cigarettes. 
I  thought  the  time  would  never  come  when  all 
the  necessary  eastern  hospitalities  would  be 
over,  but  they  came  to  an  end  at  last  and  we 

[90] 


O 
OS 


a  o 
a;  a 

ft  o 

^O 

o 

W) 

a  a  a 

'^  a 

P3    ft  O 

I"! 

'^  ^  d 
^    .--^ 
Is  cs'^ 
°'C  a 

m 

;h  «-{ 
o  o 

o 


o 


a; 

a 

< 


(=1 

a 
be 

>  m 
<D  ^ 


CD 


0) 


o 

^^ 

q; 

CD 


03 


a> 


^  aa 


o 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

were  taken  to  a  balcony  of  the  palace  to  see 
the  Governor's  horses. 

Right  now  I  want  to  apologize.  I  had  not 
known  what  I  was  to  see  or  what  I  was  to  re- 
ceive. It  did  not  seem  at  all  probable  that  the 
"Pride  of  the  Desert"  would  amount  to  much 
— but  when  he  was  brought  to  the  court  yard 
I  apologized  to  myself  as  I  am  doing  to 
you  now.  We  forgot  all  about  heat  and  sun 
reflection.     We  could  only  think  of  the  horse. 

He  was  of  the  pure  INIaneghi  Sbeyel  strain 
and  what  a  stocky  fellow  he  was!  He  was 
powerful  enough  for  any  purpose,  especially 
for  a  long  killing  race  where  weight  was  to  be 
carried.  There  was  not  a  white  hair  on  him, 
and  Akmet  Haffez  began  on  his  fingers  to 
count  the  stallion's  pedigree  through  his  dams' 
side,  each  one  of  which  had  been  the  greatest 
mare  of  her  time.  Other  horses  were  shown, 
but  we  remembered  only  the  brown  stallion. 

And  here  came  the  second  surprise.  Just  as 
we  were  leaving  the  Governor's  palace,  he 
asked  me  to  accept  the  brown  stallion  as  his 
present.  I  had  taken  the  war  mare  from  Haf- 
fez, he  said,  and  so  I  should  accept  this  horse 
from  him.  This  seemed  to  be  beyond  reason. 
The  Governor  was  a  poor  man,  and  we  had 

[92] 


THE  WAR  MARE  IN  THE  DESERT 

heard  of  the  failure  of  the  Italian  Government 
to  secure  the  horse,  although  a  large  price  had 
been  offered  for  him.  But  the  Governor  was 
firm. 

"You  have  accepted,"  said  he,  "the  present  of 
the  war  mare,  Wadduda,  from  Akmet  Haffez; 
you  must  accept  this  horse  as  a  present  from 


me." 


So  I  did,  but  later  in  the  day  I  sent  to  Hick- 
mut  Bey,  the  Governor's  son,  as  a  present,  a 
check  for  one  hundred  French  pounds. 
Honors  were  therefore  easy,  but  nevertheless 
I  had  had  presented  to  me  on  the  eve  of  my 
start  for  the  desert,  a  mare  and  a  stallion  which 
I  could  not  have  purchased  with  all  my  letters 
of  credit. 

The  rest  of  the  day  was  taken  up  in  pre- 
paring for  the  journey  to  the  desert  with  Haf- 
fez. At  five  o'clock  we  had  left  Aleppo.  I 
rode  Wadduda;  Haffez  was  on  a  bay,  four 
years  old,  a  Hamdani  Simri;  Thompson  con- 
tented himself  with  his  gray,  and  Moore  strad- 
dled an  Abeyeh  Sherrakieh  mare.  One  of 
Haffez's  sons  rode  the  "Pride  of  the  Desert." 
A  priest  was  sent  as  a  secretary,  and  Ameene, 
of  course,  accompanied  us. 

The  Governor  had  picked  twelve  soldiers  to 

[93] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

go  as  a  guard,  but  I  suggested  that  there  was 
no  reason  for  a  guard  when  Akmet  Haffez  was 
with  us ;  his  presence  was  more  than  an  army. 
The  suggestion  made  an  instant  hit  and  when 
I  asked  the  reason  Haffez  explained  that  the 
Bedouins  had  a  poor  opinion  of  such  Euro- 
peans as  they  had  seen  because  they  always 
came  to  the  desert  surrounded  by  soldiers. 
The  Bedouins  believed  that  all  Europeans 
were  cowards.  So,  save  for  the  rifle  which  I 
was  carrying  to  present  to  Hashem  Bey,  we 
were  without  arms.  Several  camels  with  tents 
and  provisions,  had  gone  on  with  cooks  and 
extra  camel  men.  It  was  a  gala  occasion. 
Akmet  Haffez  had  not  been  outside  of  Aleppo 
for  thirty  years  and,  as  he  rode  by  my  side,  like 
a  fine  old  Indian  chief,  his  followers  who  lined 
the  streets,  were  full  of  enthusiasm.  It  was  a 
great  evening.  Still  one  thing  bothered  me. 
I  had  not  yet  made  friends  with  my  mare.  She 
fretted  and  was  nervous.  I  was  on  her  back 
without  the  flowing  robes  usually  worn  by  the 
riders  she  was  used  to.  Jack  and  Arthur  had 
donned  Arab  costume,  but  at  the  last  moment 
I  could  not  give  up  my  flannel  shirt  and  my 
comfortable  ragged  coat  and  trousers.     So  I 

[94] 


THE  WAR  MARE  IN  THE  DESERT 

broke  the  rules  of  the  desert  and  went  as  I  was 
dressed. 

I  argued  to  myself  that  some  time  Wadduda 
would  have  to  get  used  to  me  and  my  clothes 
and  that  she  had  best  begin  at  once.  So  I  let 
her  fret.  We  rode  on  for  miles  over  dirt  and 
rock  and  Wadduda  still  seemed  fretful.  She 
wanted  something;  that  was  evident,  but  what 
it  was  I  could  not  quite  make  out.  Then  sud- 
denly I  was  enlightened. 

Just  as  the  big  red  sun  was  setting  we  came 
to  the  desert.  Wadduda  stopped  as  if  she 
were  paying  some  tribute  to  the  closing  day. 
The  faint  roadway  now  seemed  to  disappear 
and  before  us  was  a  vast  barren  plain.  The  sky 
was  of  a  soft  blue,  tinted  to  gold  by  the  sun, 
which  had  just  set.  I  turned  in  my  Oregon- 
made  saddle,  as  easily  as  I  could,  that  I  might 
see  where  the  rest  of  the  caravan  was.  The 
mare  did  not  notice  my  turning.  With  a  quick 
and  graceful  toss  of  the  head,  she  began  to 
play.  I  sat  deep  down  in  my  saddle  and  let 
her  frolic  uninterrupted.  She  finally  stopped 
short,  and  snorted  twice. 

Turning  slightly  to  the  left  she  started  gal- 
loping with  a  delightful  spring.  It  was  the 
return  home,  the  call  of  the  wild  life  with  its 

[95] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

thrills  of  wars  and  races;  with  its  beautiful 
open  air,  as  compared  with  the  musty  stuffed 
corral  she  had  been  picketed  in.  She  was  get- 
ting away  from  civilization  and  back  to  the 
open.  Once  in  a  while  she  stopped  short,  ap- 
parently to  scent  the  rapidly  cooling  atmos- 
phere. Now  and  then  she  pranced,  picking  her 
way  between  camel  thistles.  Her  ears  were 
alert ;  her  eyes  were  blazing  with  an  expression 
of  intense  satisfaction.  All  this  time,  I  found 
by  my  wet  cheeks,  that  I  had  been  crying  with- 
out knowing  it.  I  was  wrought  up  to  a  state  of 
much  excitement.  I  was  again  a  boy  and  felt 
the  presence  of  my  parents,  and  recalled  the 
stories  of  the  Arab  horses,  they  used  to  tell  me 
when  I  was  a  child.  I  remembered  the  draw- 
ings I  had  made  of  them  as  a  boy.  It  was  hard 
to  realize  that  I  was  I,  and  that  I  was  astride 
the  most  distinguished  mare  of  the  desert.  I 
seemed  then  to  realize  what  she  was  and  what 
she  meant  to  me.  My  face  was  dripping  again 
and  I  felt  glad  I  was  alone. 

Wadduda  had  stopped  short  again  and  was 
scanning  the  horizon.  I  touched  the  mare  with 
my  heels,  but  she  did  not  move.  She  was 
thinking.  Of  what,  who  knows?  Perhaps  of 
her  wars;  or  of  combats  on  the  desert,  or  of 

[96] 


THE  WAR  MARE  IN  THE  DESERT 

the  keen  edge  of  the  Bedouin  lance  given  when 
she  had  seen  both  horse  and  rider  fall  from 
the  thrust  of  the  spear  of  the  Great  Sheikh  who 

had  ridden  her. 

So  for  a  long  time  we  waited  together — the 
mare  and  I,  in  the  gathering  dusk,  and  as  we 
waited  I  almost  wished  that  we  could  always 
be  alone.  The  call  of  the  desert  came  strong 
to  both  of  us  then. 

But  we  were  not  to  be  left  alone  for  long. 
The  mare  and  I  had  ridden  far  in  advance  of 
the  caravan,  but  now  the  people  were  gallop- 
ing along  in  an  effort  to  catch  up.  They  soon 
reached  us  and  Akmet  Haffez,  who  would  not 
let  me  go  astray  in  the  desert,  took  his  place 
on  my  left,  and  so  we  rode  and  talked  on  and 
on  into  the  beautiful  night.  I  was  tired  from 
the  excitement  of  the  secret  which  only  Wad- 
duda  and  I  knew  and  it  was  a  relief  to  have 
Moore  and  Thompson  tell  me  something  that 
rested  me.  We  were  going  to  stop  about  mid' 
night  at  the  camp  of  a  cousin  of  Akmet  Haffez. 
We  were  to  have  a  midnight  dinner  and  start 
before  sun-up  toward  the  Anezeh. 

But  it  was  after  midnight  when  we  came  to 
the  singing  and  joyous  Bedouins,  who  were 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

shouting  "Akmet  Haffez!"  "Akmet  Haffezl" 
as  we  dismounted  rather  stiffly. 

I  helped  take  the  saddle  off  my  mare,  and 
then  we  were  ushered  into  a  tall,  cone-shaped 
mud  house  and  escorted  to  a  divan  where  the 
quilts  and  rugs  were  thicker.  Before  us,  face 
down,  on  the  clean,  beautiful  quilts,  was  the 
cousin  of  Akmet  Haffez.  He  was  mumbling 
a  prayer  and  our  interpreter  softly  translated 
it.  The  prayer  was  a  beautiful  sentiment. 
The  petitioner  was  asking  God  to  release  him 
ever  after  from  work  so  that  he  might  stand 
at  the  caravan  routes  and  tell  all  generations 
of  the  great  honor  that  had  been  paid  to  him 
by  us  who  were  going  to  eat  his  rice  and  melons 
and  who  were  to  distinguish  him  further  by 
sleeping  under  his  shelter.  It  is  true  that  the 
prayer  was  more  eloquently  thankful  than 
most  hosts  would  indulge  in  for  a  party  so 
big  and  so  hungry,  but  at  the  close  of  it  we 
were  led  out  into  the  yard  where  all  his  cattle 
and  goats  and  sheep  were  resting  and  the  sight 
of  them  made  us  more  cheerful.  Then  we 
were  taken  into  the  cone-shaped  mud  house  and 
there  was  a  feast,  long  to  be  remembered. 

It  was  spread  on  low  tables  about  a  foot 
from    the    ground,    with    short-legged  little 

[98] 


THE  WAR  MARE  IN  THE  DESERT 

wicker  stools  for  us  to  sit  on.  On  the  tables 
was  spread  bread  about  an  eighth  of  an  inch 
thick  and  this  served  as  a  table  cloth.  The 
bread  baked  on  rocks  in  the  sun,  was  made  of 
barley  and  wheat  rolled,  and  now  and  then  in 
eating  it  you  came  to  a  full  stop ;  a  period  as  it 
were,  consisting  of  a  small  gravel.  In  the  cen- 
ter of  the  table  was  a  large  mound  of  finely- 
cooked  rice  and  on  top  of  this  mound  was  a 
roasted  head  of  sheep.  The  carcass,  nicely 
roasted,  was  strewn  around  the  mound  of  rice 
at  intervals.  There  were  red,  yellow  and  green 
melons;  egg  plant,  chicken  cut  up  fine,  and 
clabber  milk  of  the  goat,  sheep,  camels  and 
cows.  There  were  grape  leaves  rolled  with 
rice  in  the  center  and  there  were  fine  light  green 
grapes  and  fresh  figs.  To  drink  there  was  a 
mixture  of  sour  milk  and  water. 

When  we  sat  down,  I  saw  Akmet  Haffez 
rolling  up  his  sleeves.  I  saw  no  plates, 
knives  or  forks,  or  even  spoons,  but  I  took  the 
hint  quicker  than  Jack  or  Arthur.  Possibly  I 
had  always  lived  nearer  to  the  ground  than 
they.  Akmet  Haffez  had  no  sooner  plunged 
into  the  rice  than  I  did  the  same.  His  motions 
were  easy  to  imitate,  still  the  Bedouins  laughed 
heartily  at  the  quick  way  I  mastered  their 

[99] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

simple  art  of  eating.  We  ripped  and  tore 
at  the  table  cloth  and  at  the  other  dishes  for 
more  than  an  hour,  and  then  having  washed 
our  hands  out  of  a  peculiar  brass  pitcher,  we 
returned  to  our  sleeping  rooms.  The  program 
was  to  lie  down  and  sleep  till  about  three 
o'clock,  when  we  were  to  start  again  and  ride, 
reaching  the  Anezeh,  we  hoped,  before  it  got 
very  hot.  At  three  o'clock  we  were  saddling 
the  horses  and  were  soon  off. 

A  couple  of  hours  after  sun-up,  we  began  to 
realize  that  we  were  really  in  the  desert.  Two 
Arabs  on  mares,  a  gray  and  bay,  came  gallop- 
ing toward  us.  They  were  carrying  spears 
that  looked  fifty  feet  long.  As  they  ap- 
proached Haffez,  they  stopped  and  said  "Sa- 
1am  Alakum — "Peace  be  with  you."  They 
talked  for  some  minutes,  when  Ameene  told 
me  that  some  of  the  Anezeh  had  gone  across 
the  Euphrates  to  war,  but  that  Hashem  Bey 
had  left  his  cousin  a  few  miles  on  where  the 
latter  would  receive  us.  We  were  disappoint- 
ed that  we  were  not  to  meet  Hashem  at  once, 
but  there  was  really  no  room  for  complaint, 
and  with  the  couriers  with  the  long  spears  we 
went  on. 

It  was  about  eleven  o'clock  when  we  reached 

[100] 


THE  WAR  MARE  IN  THE  DESERT 

the  top  of  a  small  knoll.     I  was  sore  and  tired 

for  I  had  not  ridden  for  so  long  in  years  and 

the  heat  must  have  been  telling  somehow  on 

my  expression,  for  Akmet  Haffez  yelled  to  me 

to  cheer  up  and  pointing  on  ahead  shouted: 

"Anezeh!"     I  looked,  but  could  see  nothing. 

After   a  while,  through   the   haze   I   noticed 

that  the  plain  was  covered  with  blackish  tents 

and  camels.     And  then  the  whole  plain  seemed 

to  be  covered  with  camels.     In   the   distance 

they  looked  like  row  after  row  of  tea-kettles. 

Wadduda  was  prancing.     She  had  seen  her 

tribe  first.     Tired  as  I  was,  it  was  a  thrilling 

sight.     It  was  the  realization,  at  last,  of  a  wish 

that  I  had  cherished  since  a  small  boy,  and  my 

emotions  got  the  best  of  me.     We  could  see 

horsemen  racing  here  and  there.     They  were 

preparing  to  greet  us  and  were  getting  into 

holiday  garb. 

Frankly  it  was  too  much  for  me.  I  tried  to 
tell  Akmet  Haffez  through  the  interpreter 
what  I  felt  and  to  thank  him  for  what  he  had 
done,  but  I  am  afraid  I  made  a  mess  of  it. 
That  kindly  old  man  saw  my  emotion  and 
replied  with  all  the  native  courtesy  of  the 
desert  combined  with  the  manner  of  the  true 
gentleman.    It  was  an  honor  to  him,  he  said, 

[  101  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

that  we  had  allowed  him  to  introduce  us  to  his 
Anezeh. 

We  were  now  getting  near  to  the  outskirts 
of  the  camp,  and  though  I  was  as  sore  as  an 
Aleppo  button  looks,  under  the  excitement  I 
urged  on.  We  saw  a  big  grass  plot  in  front 
of  a  large  tent.  Haffez  rode  straight  for  it 
on  his  mare  and  as  he  dismounted,  men  came 
out  and  kissed  him  on  the  cheeks.  All  of  the 
big  officials  had  done  this  when  an  Arab  took 
my  mare  and  I  got  off.  I  could  hardly  walk 
and  the  heat  was  making  me  dizzy.  I  tried 
to  be  unconcerned,  but  my  hips  and  knees  were 
about  broken.  Sheikli  after  sheikh  we  met, 
and  we  bowed  and  touched  our  right  hands  to 
our  lips  and  foreheads  as  they  did,  and  then 
shook  hands.  We  were  led  in  under  a  big  re- 
ception tenL  The  bridle  from  my  mare  w^as 
brought  in  and  tied  to  the  center  pole  of  the 
tent,  denoting  that  we  were  welcome.  We 
were  at  last  among  the  Fedaan  Anezeh,  the 
most  warlike  and  most  uncivilized  race  of 
Bedouins  in  the  world.  To  be  frank  again,  I 
was  much  overcome  with  emotion  to  realize  that 
we  were  in  the  tents  of  the  greatest  war  tribe 
of  Bedouins  and  under  possibly  the  most  fav- 
orable conditions  possible. 

[102] 


^*  t-> 


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MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

Ameene  felt  that  it  was  up  to  me  to  say 
something.  Too  tired  to  stand,  almost  too 
weak  to  talk  from  the  heat,  hunger  and  thirst, 
still  I  leaned  toward  the  interpreter,  and  asked 
him  to  tell  Akmet  Haff  ez  and  the  Anezeh,  that 
while  I  had  been  born  in  the  far  western  part 
of  what  he  called  "Americ,"  I  had  realized, 
ever  since  a  small  boy,  that  I  was  just  as  much 
of  an  Arab  as  any  in  the  desert  and  that  now 
that  I  had  seen  the  Anezeh  tribe,  I  felt  I  had 
been  one  of  its  members  all  my  life.  I  thanked 
Akmet  Haffez  for  bringing  me  to  such  a  peo- 
ple, for  it  was  the  supreme  moment  of  my  life. 

Without  hesitation,  this  old  man  reached 
across  the  camel's  saddle  and  with  a  voice  full 
of  emotion  said : 

"No,  the  day  is  ours,  not  yours;  ever  since 
the  Anezeh  became  a  tribe  we  have  known  that 
one  of  us  was  missing.  Now  you  have  come 
and  the  number  is  complete.  To-day  we  cele- 
brate the  gathering  of  the  entire  tribe." 

And  thus  was  I  received  by  the  Anezeh. 


[104] 


CHAPTER  IX 

WE  FEAST  WITH  THE  ANEZEH  AND  BECOME  BET- 
TER ACQUAINTED INSPECTION  AND  PUR- 
CHASE OF  HORSES 

This  interchange  of  formalities  and  courte- 
sies broke  the  ice  and  we  instantly  felt  that  we 
were  at  home  in  the  Bedouin  camp.  Our  hosts 
brought  us  a  delicious  drink  of  water  mixed 
with  curdled  milk  of  the  sheep,  goat  and  camel, 
and  we  did  not  in  the  least  mind  that  the  water 
was  muddy  or  that  the  mixture  was  stirred  in 
a  dirty  pail  with  a  dagger.  We  liked  it  all 
the  more.  Presently  the  slave  who  makes  the 
coffee  began  to  beat  time  on  a  large  wooden 
bowl  with  ornamental  sides.  The  stick  he  used 
was  heavy,  and  in  the  noise  there  was  a  ring  of 
ragtime  that  was  fascinating.  No  tune  ever 
impressed  itself  on  me  more  than  that  weird 
coffee  beating,  the  muffle  sound  of  which  could 
be  heard  a  quarter  of  a  mile. 

Coffee  galore  was  served,  but  I  had  to  de- 

[105]^ 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

cline.  Haffez  explained  that  I  did  not  drink 
coffee,  or  smoke,  but  that  he  would  take  my 
share,  and  the  grim  Bedouins  smiled.  Never 
have  I  seen  such  a  gathering  as  was  seated 
under  the  big  ilat-topped  tent;  Bedouin  after 
Bedouin,  as  handsome  warriors  as  one  could 
imagine,  all  with  beards,  except  the  young  men 
and  boys  and  all  so  black  that  their  high  lights 
were  reallv  blue. 

Hashem  Bey's  cousin  told  us  how  sorry  the 
great  Sheikh  had  been  to  leave  before  our  ar- 
rival, but  that  as  the  war  was  not  believed  to 
be  a  serious  one,  he  would  return  in  a  few 
days  with  the  2,500  mounted  men  he  had  taken 

away. 

Our  camels  had  now  arrived,  and  our  tents 
were  pitched  facing  the  Sheikh's,  and  many 
Bedouins  were  set  to  clearing  the  space  of  its 
rocks. 

They  were  anxious  to  see  a  letter  from  the 
Governor  of  Aleppo  to  their  Sheikh,  and  the 
latter's  secretary  read  it  aloud.  It  must  have 
been  a  pretty  strong  document,  for  at  inter- 
vals everybody  bowed,  and  touched  their 
mouths  and  forehead  with  their  hand.  Then 
soon  it  was  time  for  the  feast.  About  two 
o'clock  four  men  came,  carrying  an  immense 

[106] 


V 


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MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

pan  with  more  than  two  washtubs  full  of  boiled 
rice  on  it,  and  on  top  of  that  a  roast  sheep. 
We  began  to  brighten  up.  More  sour  milk, 
and  grapes,  and  bread  that  looked  like  saddle 
blankets  followed  the  sheep.  About  twelve 
Sheikhs  ate  with  us  at  the  first  table.  And 
never  was  there  such  rice  and  mutton!  We 
must  have  consumed  a  third  of  it  before  it 
was  given  over  to  the  rank  and  file,  who  put 
the  crimp  on  the  rest  of  it  in  short  order.  By 
this  time  our  tent  was  up,  and  full  of  Bedouins 
looking  at  things.  They  were  driven  away  by 
Sheikh  Ali,  and  we  were  invited  to  sleep, 
which  we  did  without  being  rocked.  There 
was  a  quiet  air  to  the  place  which  seemed  more 
restful,  and  in  the  morning  I  was  up  at  day- 
light looking  over  the  horses  picketed  here  and 
there.  Finally,  picturesquely-dressed  Bed- 
ouins began  to  appear. 

Not  one  of  them  was  hurried.  Everybody 
walked  slowly  and  with  a  dignified  sway. 
There  was  no  rushing  for  the  8:17  train;  there 
was  no  hurrying  for  the  ferryboat;  there  was 
no  worry  over  the  market;  there  was  no  ex- 
citement over  politics.  Until  I  learned  better 
that  you  cannot  * 'hustle  the  East"  this  repose 
(you  cannot  call  it    laziness)     seemed     very 

[108] 


THE  FEAST  WITH  THE  ANEZEH 

strange.  Later  I  began  to  like  it.  These  big 
handsome  men  with  well-kept  beards  and 
sparkling  sharp  eyes,  seemed  to  have  nothing 
to  do,  but  when  you  had  watched  them  for  a 
while  you  could  see  how  alert  they  are.  They 
were  anxious  to  see  our  firearms  and  knives  and 
jewelry.  They  commented,  with  astonish- 
ment, on  my  knowledge  of  the  technical  points 
of  their  own  horses.  My  pronunciation  of 
words  was  often  bad,  but  they  knew  that  I  had 
a  fair  knowledge  of  the  different  breeds  and 
they  brought  up  stranger  after  stranger  that 
they  might  enjoy  the  astonishment  of  the  lat- 
ter when  I  went  over  the  families  of  the  Kham- 
seh,  or  five  great  families  of  the  Arab  horse. 
When  the  sketch  books  were  opened,  and  I  be- 
gan to  draw  pictures  of  horses  and  men,  their 
joy  was  almost  childlike. 

Thompson  and  Moore  had  been  exhibiting 
their  cameras,  but  after  they  had  seen  me  draw 
with  just  a  plain  pencil,  they  would  have  none 
of  the  camera.  They  examined  the  pencil  and 
looked  at  its  point.  When  they  used  it,  they 
said  it  only  made  marks,  but  when  I  took  hold 
of  it  it  drew  their  horses,  so  it  must  be  that  I, 
they  argued,  was  better  than  the  camera. 

Our  saddles  were  strange  to  them,  especial- 

[109] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

ly  mine,  an  Oregon  make  with  the  latest  cow- 
boy seat.  I  drew  them  a  picture,  showing 
what  the  horn  was  for,  and  after  that, 
wherever  we  went  the  first  thing  they  wanted 
me  to  do  was  to  draw  the  picture  of  the  cowboy 
throwing  the  steer. 

Soon  after  meeting  Akmet  Haffez  I  had 
told  him  that  I  was  not  a  government  buyer 
and,  indeed  was  not  a  rich  man.  I  made  it 
clear  to  him  that  while  I  was  prepared  to  pay 
good  honest  prices  and  did  not  propose  to 
"jew"  anybody  down,  still  I  did  not  intend  to 
be  cheated.  Government  agents  do  not  have  to 
be  particular  about  prices  and  consequently  the 
Anezeh  have  been  spoiled.  The  money  values 
they  set  on  their  horses  are  sometimes  aston- 
ishing, considering  what  labor  in  the  desert  is 
worth. 

My  old  friend  put  his  arm  around  my  shoul- 
ders and  told  me  that  he  would  tell  everybody 
we  met  and  everybody  whose  horses  we  cared 
to  see,  that,  unless  they  thought  enough  of 
him,  Akmet  Haffez  and  his  friendshij)  to  sell 
on  reasonable  terms,  we  would  buy  no  horses 
at  all.  And  this  he  did  in  a  speech  to  the  great 
throng  of  Bedouins  present.  I  had  come 
there,  he  declared,  to  study  the  Arab  horse  in 

[110] 


THE  FEAST  WITH  THE  ANEZEH 

his  purity;  that  I  was  making  pictures  of  him 
as  they  had  seen  and  that  I  was  going  to  write 
of  his  greatness. 

"I  have  presented  to  this  man,"  cried  the 
chief  eloquently,  "the  great  war  mare  which 
came  to  me  from  your  great  Sheikh,  Hashem 


7///,  '^-^         <S*-^^ -fe-ii    — 6~^^1  ,.-,-^  ,    _ 

Just   out   of  our   tent  squatted   this  young  Anezeh   Bedouin. 

Bey.  You  know,  as  all  Bedouins  know,  that 
no  European  could  have  purchased  that  mare 
at  any  price  ( and  here  all  his  auditors  grunted 
their  assent) ,  but  I  have  given  to  him  the  mare 
Wadduda,  whose  name  means  love  and  affec- 
tion, and  under  that  namcl  have  given  her  to 

[  111  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

this  man  that  she  may  be  a  living  witness  of 
the  affection  for  him,  not  only  of  myself  but  of 
the  whole  Anezeh  tribe.  And  in  Aleppo  the 
Governor  gave  to  him  the  Maneghi  Sheyel 
stallion,  the  'Pride  of  the  Desert.'  So  now 
treat  the  man  as  you  would  one  of  your  own 
tribe.  Those  of  you  who  have  for  sale  horses 
that  are  'Chubby'*  he  will  talk  with,  but  other 
horses  need  not  be  shown.  Let  it  be  a  mat- 
ter of  your  personal  pride  that  he  takes  from 
the  desert  only  such  horses  and  mares  as  the 
Anezeh  themselves  would  want  to  have — not 
meaning  only  such  animals  as  the  European 
governments  would  use." 

Notwithstanding  the  friendship  that  had 
been  shown  to  us  by  everybody,  there  was  con- 
siderable disappointment  among  the  Bedouins 
at  Akmet  Haffez's  strict  order.  As  Arthur 
and  Jack  remarked,  it  bound  their  hands  so 
that  they  could  do  no  "gouging." 

The  first  horse  was  brought  for  inspection 
by  a  very  old  Bedouin.  The  animal  was  a 
dark  iron  gray  stallion,  five  years  old,  a  Kehi- 
lan  Ajuz,  the  breed  from  which  all  other  Kehi- 
lans  are  off-shoots,  and  which  is  considered  the 
best  of  all  the  Kehilans.     This  young  horse 


*"Chubby,"  meaning  "used  for  breeding  purposes." 

[112] 


CO 
u 

a 

o 


f-> 


-u 

be 

<v 
w 

N 

a 
< 


o 

a 
<v 

a 

a 
o 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

was  a  powerful  animal,  but  he  had  been  in  war 
evidently  while  very  young,  and  so  had  a  few 
bad  splints.  I  was  afraid  to  take  him.  When 
I  asked  to  see  him  gallop,  his  owner,  the  old 
Bedouin,  a  small  man  far  under  the  average 
height,  riding  a  saddle  without  stirrips,  flung 
himself  on  the  horse  like  an  animal  and  gal- 
loped over  the  rocky  ground  in  a  big  circle. 
The  horse  was  all  action  and  held  his  tail  high. 
The  faster  the  horse  moved  the  better  he  went, 
and  I  found  it  hard,  though  it  had  to  be  done, 
to  refuse  him  just  because  of  a  few  splints. 

When  horses  were  brought  for  us  to  in- 
spect, Akmet  Haffez  told  me  not  to  seem  over- 
pleased,  no  matter  how  beautiful  the  animal 
was.  If,  after  I  had  looked  a  horse  over  and 
decided  that  I  wanted  him,  I  was  to  wink  at 
him  and  then,  if  the  horse  could  be  bought  un- 
der our  conditions  and  no  others,  he  would  get 
him. 

When  the  Bedouins  were  showing  a  horse, 
or  mare,  it  was  quite  a  relief  to  see  an  animal, 
where  the  defects,  if  any,  were  never  con- 
cealed. They  just  brought  the  horse  and 
squatted  down  by  him.  No  attempt  was  made 
to  straighten  his  mane.     If  he  had  a  blemish, 

[114] 


THE  FEAST  WITH  THE  ANEZEH 

they  were  more  than  Hkely  to  back  him  up  to 
you  so  the  blemish  was  the  first  thing  you  saw. 

All  young  horses  which  were  brought,  Haf- 
fez  measured  from  the  centre  of  the  knee  joint 
to  the  hair  line  of  the  hoof,  and  applied  that 
measurement  four  times  in  the  direction  of  the 
horse's  withers,  to  see  how  much  more  it  would 
ffrow,  if  any.  While  the  Bedouins  consider  a 
horse  over  fifteen  hands  high  inferior  to  one 
under  fifteen  hands,  I  told  them  that  if  possi- 
ble, I  wanted  to  get  large  animals  as  people 
in  America  preferred  size. 

On  the  second  day,  a  light  gray  horse  colt, 
four  years  old,  was  shown.  He  had  been  bred 
by  Sheikh  Ali  and  was  a  Seglawi  Obeyran. 
His  dam  was  one  of  the  favorite  war  mares  of 
Hashem  Bey  and  his  sire  was  an  Abeyan  Sher- 
rak.  Sheikh  Ali,  Akmet  Haffez,  Ameene,  the 
interpreter,  and  myself  took  seats  on  the 
ground  and  while  the  other  Bedouins  kept 
away  from  us  we  bargained  for  him. 
Sheikh  Ali  thought  that  owing  to  the 
animal's  distinguished  dam  he  ought  to  have 
more  money  than  Haffez  was  willing  to  pay. 
I  was  afraid  that  Haffez  was  drawing  a  line 
so  fine  that  we  would  make  enemies  in  the 
desert,  where  I  wanted  only  friends.     After  a 

[  115  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

long  argument,  Haff ez  got  up  and  went  away. 
Sheikh  AH  followed  him,  and  Haffez,  turn- 
ing, extended  his  hand,  but  the  other  Sheikh 
would  not  take  it.  I  asked  the  interpreter 
what  they  meant  and  he  told  me  that  Akmet 
Haffez  did  not  believe  the  price  asked  for  the 
horse  was  a  true  estimate  of  their  friendship, 
and  that  the  other  man  insisted  that  Haffez, 


The  method  of  buying  a  horse  in  the  Desert.    Purchasing  Azra, 
a  four-year-old  Seglawie   Obeyran. 


who  had  not  been  to  the  desert  for  many  years, 
was  ignorant  of  the  recent  prices  which  the 
Anezeh  had  been  getting  for  horses.  Haffez 
had  replied  that  he  knew  the  price  that  every 
horse  had  brought  and  that  on  the  price  of 

[116] 


THE  FEAST  WITH  THE  ANEZEH 

every  horse  sold  out  of  the  desert,  he,  in  Alep- 
po, got  a  commission  of  five  pounds,  just  as 
Hashem  Bey,  the  Sheikh  of  the  Anezeh  did. 
On  this  occasion  he  said  he  was  not  taking  any 
commission,  and  that  he  would  not  allow  me 
to  buy  any  horse  except  at  a  fair  price. 

We  three  Americans  were  astonished  at  this 
performance,  and  so  was  Ameene.  The  lat- 
ter had  seen  the  miserable  gang  of  cut-throats 
around  Bey  rout  that  were  trying  to  sell  us 
horses  whose  most  exaggerated  value  would 
have  been  about  two  pounds.  Truly  we  were 
in  safe  hands  in  the  desert. 

When  I  heard  that  there  was  only  $20  dif- 
ference between  Akmet  Haff  ez  and  Sheikh  Ali 
on  the  price  of  the  gray,  I  told  Haffez  that  we 
were  to  be  the  guests  of  Sheikh  Ali  for  three 
days,  and,  as  he  would  then  have  to  feed  all  our 
horses,  camels  and  men  I  would  like  to  buy 
the  horse,  even  against  Haffez's  will.  So  I 
bought  him.  As  I  rode  home,  we  found  out, 
as  Akmet  Haffez  told  us  before  we  left  Alep- 
po, that  the  poorest  horse  we  had,  I  had  bought 
against  his  wishes. 

Late  that  afternoon  a  man  came  riding  a  re- 
markable gray  mare.  She  looked  so  different 
from  the  other  mares  that  I  could  hardly  wait 

[1171 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

for  Haffez.  When  I  asked  if  she  was  "Chub- 
by," the  Bedoum  smiled,  and  almost  laughed, 
when  he  said  "Kehilan  Ajuz,"  which  is  equiva- 
lent to  saying,  "Rather,  she's  the  dam  of  all 
that  is  chubby." 


A  Gomussa  Bedouin  of  the  Sabba  Anezeh,  showing  the  artistic 
tattooing  at  the  corners  of  his  eyes  and  the  braids  called  the 
"love  locks." 

She  was  a  picture,  though  she  had  no  jibbah, 
or  bulging  forehead.  On  the  contrary  her 
forehead  was  as  flat  as  a  board,  but  her  eyes 
were  far  apart  and  set  in  the  peculiar  Japanese 
slant.  They  were  turned  up  at  the  outer  cor- 
ners like  those  of  a  chorus-girl  with  a  1907 

[118] 


THE   FEAST  WITH   THE  ANEZEH 

make-up.  There  was  the  same  stately  dignity 
about  her  that  Wadduda  had ;  she  looked  like  a 
fine  lady  of  quality  in  the  presence  of  a  lot  of 
cooks  at  an  employment  agency.  In  my  ef- 
forts to  buy  her,  before  Haffez  got  out  of  the 
tent,  the  Bedouin  smiled  and  laughed,  and, 
when  Haffez  came  out,  without  looking  to  see 
who  was  on  her  back,  he  too  began  to  roll  with 
laughter.  Then  he  looked  at  me  as  if  urging 
me  on  to  buy  her  quick.  Ameene  began  to 
laugh,  too,  and  finally  explained  that  the  joke 
was  on  me.  The  mare  it  seems  could  not  be 
sold.  She  was  famous  from  Nejd  to  Aleppo, 
and  was  owned  on  shares  by  the  Anezeh.  She 
had  been  ridden  over  simply  to  find  out  if  we 
would  like  to  look  at  her  last  son,  a  colt  two 
years  old.  I  asked  if  we  could  not  break  the 
rule  and  still  buy  her,  and  all  I  got  was  another 
laugh. 

Neither  the  mare  nor  any  of  her  daughters 
could  be  sold,  and  all  in  the  female  line  were 
retained  by  the  Anezeh.  At  that  time  she  was 
twelve  years  old  and  looked  four.  When  she 
was  seven  or  eight  years  old  she  had  swept  the 
desert  for  speed.  Six  years  before  the  Ger- 
man Government  had  paid  four  hundred 
pounds  for  her  three-year-old  son.     We  stood 

[119]^ 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

immovable  as  she  was  galloped  away  to  fetch 
the  colt  which  we  were  to  see,  and  which  I 
had  already  made  up  my  mind  to  buy,  no  mat- 
ter if  his  legs  were  crooked. 

It  was  nearly  sun-down  when  the  same 
Bedouins  returned  riding  the  colt,  and,  when 
he  was  a  hundred  yards  away,  Thompson, 
Moore  and  myself,  all  remarked  that  anyone 
could  tell  who  his  mother  was  for  his  eyes  were 
set  in  the  same  peculiar  manner.  It  was 
evident  from  our  measurement  that  he  was 
not  going  to  be  as  big  as  his  mother,  but  that 
he  showed  the  same  characteristics  was  enough. 
He  was  absolutely  free  from  blemish  of  any 
kind.  He  was  a  pink  gray  that  would  prob- 
ably shed  out  into  white;  his  disposition  was 
as  perfect  as  his  mother's  and,  although  a  scant 
two  years  old,  his  manners  were  those  of  a  little 
gentleman,  and  we  came  to  terms  rather  quick- 
ly. When  a  price  was  finally  agreed  upon, 
Haffez  always  called  me  and  the  Bedouin  to 
him.  Taking  the  right  hand  of  each  of  us,  he 
would  join  them;  then  laying  one  of  his  hands 
over  ours  and  pointing  up,  he  would  ask  the 
Bedouin  if  he  would  swear  before  God  that 
everything  he  said  was  true,  and  if  he  would 
be  willing,  with  God  as  a  witness,  to  ask  the 

[120] 


Achmet  Haffez  would  join  our  hands  just  before  the  horse 
was  bought,  then  resting  his  hancjs  on  ours,  would  ask  the 
warrior  to  repeat  to  God  all  he  had  just  said  about  the  animal, 
then  with  a  toss  of  our  hands  the  deal  was  closed. 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

Sheikli  of  the  tribe  to  put  his  seal  on  the  bar- 
gain. Then  if  the  Bedouin  said  yes,  Haffez 
would  toss  the  hands  up  and  the  deal  was 
closed.  We  felt  exceedingly  proud  of  this 
two-year-old.  The  Bedouins  came  and  sat 
round  him  in  honor  of  his  distinguished 
mother. 

Later  Arthur  and  Jack  had  a  laugh  on  me. 
We  saw  a  bay  mare  galloping  at  some  distance 
and  her  action  impressed  us  all,  but  me  espe- 
cially. As  the  rider  came  closer  the  others 
said  the  mare  was  limping,  but  I  was  doubtful. 
She  moved  so  well  that  I  had  hopes  of  buying 
her  if  she  filled  Haffez's  measure.  But  to  our 
astonishment  when  she  came  walking  up  we 
found  that  one  of  her  pasterns  had  been  broken. 
She  was  walking  on  the  ankle  joint,  the  foot  a 
w^ithered-up  dried  object,  being  turned  up  at 
the  outer  side  like  that  of  a  dead  horse.  We 
learned  she  had  been  injured  in  war  and  that 
the  accident  only  hindered  her  speed  a  little. 


[122] 


CHAPTER  X 

AN  IMPORTANT  CEREMONY  IN  WHICH  I  WAS  ONE 

OF  THE  PRINCIPALS A    CIRCASSIAN    VILLAGE 

WITH  A  VISIT  TO  THE  GOVERNOR  AND  WHAT 
BEFELL  SHEIKH  ALI 

Arthur  INIoore,  riding  Akmet  Haffez's 
Abeyeh  Sherrakieh  mare,  an  animal  with  a 
wonderful  head  and  build,  was  to  go  back  to 
Aleppo  at  this  time  with  Jack  Thompson  and 
Faiot,  Haffez's  younger  son,  to  procure  more 
tea,  of  which  the  Bedouins  were  very  fond. 
Indeed  we  had  used  up  nearly  all  we  had 
brought  out  for  the  entire  trip,  in  our  first  three 
days  at  the  camp.  He  was  also  going  to  bring 
some  more  gold,  and  his  INIauser  rifle.  We 
were  nine  hours  ride,  about  thirty-five  or  thir- 
ty-six miles  from  Aleppo,  and  while  my  com- 
panions were  gone  I  tried  to  come  to  an  agree- 
ment with  Haffez  over  the  mare  which  JMoore 
was  riding.  She  had  been  taken  in  war  by 
the  Anezeh,  from  the  Shammar,  across  the 
Euphrates,  and  her  pedigree  bore  the  last  seal 

[  123  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

of  Sheikh  Faris,  the  great  enemy  of  the 
Anezeh,  who  had  been  dead  two  years.  She 
was  small,  not  more  than  fourteen  hands  two 
inches  high,  but  I  never  saw  such  beautiful  hind 
quarters  and  back  tendons  on  anything  in 
horse  flesh. 

Now  every  time  I  had  tried  to  buy  this  mare 
from  Haffez  he  turned  it  off  with  a  joke,  say- 
ing that  everything  he  had  was  mine  and  that 
there  was  nothing  to  buy.  Then  when  he 
would  apparently  talk  seriously  about  selling 
her,  he  would  warn  me  to  be  careful  for  the 
agreement  he  had  made  with  the  Anezeh  was 


ABEYAH 
This  mare's  head  was  considered  by  the  Bedouins  the  most 

perfect  of  the  Anezeh. 

not  binding  between  us,  and  that  he  would 

dicker  and  bargain  as  best  we  could.  Even 

when  I  consented  and  asked  him  to  put  a 

[  124  ] 


\: 


C) 


V 


Abeyah's  pedigree  bearing  the  last  seal  of  Fares  (the  dark  one). 

I,  Fares  El-Jarbah,  hereby  testify  that  the  red  mare  which 
has  white  on  its  face  and  on  its  long  hind  legs,  is  Abeyah 
Shrakieh  of  the  breed  of  Mathaba  EI-Hadab.  She  was  bred 
in  the  darkness  of  night  and  is  purer  than  milk.  And  we 
have  not  testified  except  to  what  we  have  known,  and  we  are 
unaware  of  the  unknown. 

Witness   thereof:         Fares  El-Jarbah. 

ATTESTATION: 

I  testify  by  Allah  that  the  aforementioned  witness,  Fares 
Basha  Ibn  Atrat,  is  a  rock  of  truth,  and  his  testimony  is 
acceptable. 

(Signed)        Ahmad  Hafez. 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

price  on  her,  he  said  ten  pounds,  and  that  threw 
the  whole  thing  back  into  the  joke  basket. 
But  that  night  I  finally  got  him.  I  told  him 
seriously  that  above  all  the  mares  I  had  seen 
on  the  desert,  I  wanted  his  Abeyeh  Sherrakieh, 
because  of  her  fine  head.  So  he  finally  set  a 
price  which  seemed  reasonable,  and  I  offered 
him  ten  pounds  more  and  made  him  take  it.  I 
also  bought  his  Hamdanieh  Simrieh  filly,  four 
years  old,  a  bay,  which  he  himself  rode.  I 
think  she  can  outwalk  anything  in  horse  flesh 
I  ever  saw,  and  I  believe  that  even  in  a  field  of 
exceptionally  fast  walking  horses,  she  would 
be  five  miles  ahead  of  the  lot  in  an  all-day  walk. 
She  and  her  sister,  with  a  broken  shoulder,  were 
the  only  Hamdanieh  Simrieh  in  the  northern 
part  of  the  desert.  The  Anezeh  told  me  there 
were  some  in  the  Shammar,  but  only  a  few. 
They  are  the  rarest  horses  in  the  desert,  and 
the  blood  is  held  in  higher  esteem  than  any- 
thing else. 

I  hope  I  have  succeeded  in  impressing  the 
reader  with  the  very  fine  nobility  of  character 
of  Akmet  Haffez.  My  friendship  with  him 
and  my  admiration  for  him  began  at  our  first 
meeting  in  Aleppo  and  each  day  made  both 
stronger.     And  now  I  was  to  come  into  closer 

[126] 


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a 
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p. 

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a 

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O) 

;-i 

o 
w 

-^ 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

relations  with  him.  The  morning  after  the 
mare  became  mine  we  were  to  start  on  the  visit 
to  Sheikh  Ali  and  just  before  we  mounted  I 
went  through  the  ceremony  which  made  me  his 
brother. 

Neither  of  us  had  brothers  and  so  we  agreed 
to  follow  out  our  old  custom  of  the  Bedouins 
and  take  the  fraternal  pledge.  I  first  treated 
the  matter  a  little  too  frivolously,  but  the 
Bedouins  were  very  solemn. 

Standing  at  one  side  of  the  tent,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  many  witnesses,  we  held  up  our  right 
hands  and,  with  our  left  clasped  together,  re- 
peated the  pledge.  Akmet  Half  ez  began  with 
the  words,  "Wallah!  Wallahi!"  ("O  God!  My 
God!")  which  I  repeated  after  him.  "Wallah! 
Wallahi!"  and  then  together  we  said  them  over 
and  over  again. 

"Billah!  Billahi!  Tillah!  Tillahi!"  chanted 
the  old  Bedouin.  "Akhwan,  akhwan,  el  yom  wa 
bookra  wa  Tal  abad,  akhwan."  ( "By  God  and 
through  God,  brothers,  to-day  and  to-morrow 
and  forever  brothers!") 

I  felt  nothing  of  frivolity  now  and  as  I 
grasped  his  hand  and  took  the  oath  my  eyes 
were  moist.  After  it  was  over  he  asked  how 
I  felt  now  that  I  was  the  brother  of  a  brown 

[128] 


AN  IMPORTANT  CEREMONY 

old  man,  who  ate  wdth  his  hands.  I  replied 
that  I  felt  no  change;  that  we  had  apparently 
always  been  brothers,  whereupon  he  began  to 
crv. 

Who  knew,  he  asked,  but  that  we  had  been 
through  a  similar  ceremony  that  God  himself 
had  performed  cen- 
turies ago  on  some 
other  planet. 

Shortly  after,  we 
started  for  Sheikh 
All's  tribe,  the 
Abogonese,  a 
branch  of  the  Ane- 
zeh,    who    seldom 

rfr\  -fo-n  c/^nf"h  ivi  4-V.ri  Sheikh  All  Rashid  of  the  Abo-Gomese, 
go  lar  SOUin  m  tne  ^  sub-tribe  of  the  Anezeh. 

desert. 

Sheikh  All  greeted  us  warmly  and  accom- 
panied us  on  a  ten-hour  night  ride  to  a  Cir- 
cassian village  near  the  Euphrates,  to  see  a 
gray  colt,  a  Kehilan  Jilfan  Stam  el  Bulada,  a 
young  horse  whose  dam  was  a  distinguished 
war  mare.  This  ride  on  a  hot  night  was  very 
trying,  but  the  Bedouins  beguiled  the  time 
with  the  melancholy  song  so  common  among 
them  and  with  many  curious  questions  about 
America. 

[129] 


*W¥..„ 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

The  shooting  stars  which  fell  in  every  direc- 
tion in  the  desert  heavens,  were  playing  like 
Pain's  fireworks,  but  I  was  so  tired  and  sleepy 
that  it  was  with  difficulty  that  I  kept  awake. 
About  three  in  the  morning  we  stopped  at  a 
small  village  consisting  of  a  dozen  houses.  The 
villagers  were  aroused  by  a  barking  of  the  dogs 
and  when  they  heard  the  words,  "Akmet  Haf- 
fez!"  they  got  up  instantly  and  made  us  wel- 
come, and  we  slept  in  the  beds  they  had  just 
quitted,  till  about  five  o'clock,  when  we  started 
on  again.  About  ten  the  next  morning  we 
arrived  at  the  Circassian  village,  and  after  see- 
ing the  colt  and  having  had  a  few  more  hours' 
rest,  we  felt  well  repaid  for  the  trip  and  bought 
the  horse  as  well  as  a  bay  colt  with  a  peculiar 
dark  brown  spot  on  his  right  flank — a  Maneghi 
Hedruj.  At  the  same  place  we  secured  a 
chestnut  two-year-old,  an  Abeyan  Sherrak, 
which  had  been  recently  brought  from  Deyr, 
on  the  lower  Euphrates.  This  little  fellow 
was  so  full  of  life  that  they  had  to  show  him 
with  all  four  feet  hobbled,  but  he  understood 
the  hobbles  so  well  that  in  his  pacing  motion  he 
managed  to  make  much  play.  All  these  three 
colts  were  bred  bv  the  Anezeh. 

While  at  this  village  we  saw  a  gray  mare, 

[130] 


AX  IMPORTANT  CEREMONY 

four  years  old,  that  stood  fifteen  hands  and 
two  inches  high,  which  I  wanted  to  buy  very 
much;    but    she    was    not 
"Chubby"    and    H  a  ff  e  z 
thought   the   asking  price 
was  too  large,  so  we  didn't 
get  her.    At  this  same  vil- 
lage,   a    Circassian    came 
along  with  a  beautiful  filly. 
Whenever    I    approached 
her  she  would  stamp  as  a 
sheep    does    at    a    strange 
dog,  turn  and  try  to  kick 
me — anything  to  keep  me 
away.      I   asked  the   Cir- 
cassion  if  she  was  "Chub- 
by," and  he  told  me  "Yes." 

When  HaffeZ  came  out,  he        This  handsome  Bedouin 
•  1      Ui-d      1,1,     V>      ^.^A      4-1-.^    boy   who    had   come   from 

said      Chubby  i      ana    tne  q^jte  a  distance  with  his 

^.  .  J.    i"j  u* <'X^^o  "     father    to    bring    a    dark 

CnXaSSian  told  mm       l  eS.        iron-grey     horse     of     the 
-r  T^     1        •  1  'r,,^^^    family  of  Jelfon  Stam-el- 

I  saw  a  Bedoum  whisper  g^iad.     The   boy  stood 

-TT     rv?  J    4-U^    l«4-4-^-.^    with  fingers  spread  look- 

to  Hairez,  and  the  lattei   ^^g  with  awe  and  aston- 

J  •,^,^^^    +1^^    ishment    at    my    Oregon- 

ran  over  and  gripped  tne  ^^^^  saddle  that  lay  on 
Circassian    by    the    right  ^^«^^^- 
hand,  and  asked  him  to  say  to  God  that  she 
was  "Chubby."    If  you  ever  saw  a  fellow  pull 
loose  quick,  it  was  this  Circassian.    He  yelled 

[131] 


//^o  6." 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

in  his  efforts  to  get  away,  and  at  the  same  time 
saying  the  mare  was  "Chubby"  to  me,  but  not 
to  God. 

It  was  such  a  hot  day  that  we  had  not  gone 
out  of  the  house  except  to  look  at  colts.  Final- 
ly a  messenger  came  from  the  Governor's  of- 
fice, saying  that  his  Excellency  was  much  put 
out,  as  he  had  been  sitting  at  his  office  in  state, 
ready  to  receive  us,  for  the  last  two  or  three 
hours,  and  that  he  was  anxious  that  we  should 
call  on  him,  in  order  that  he  could  return  our 
visit.  So  with  Akmet  Haffez  and  Sheikh  Ali, 
we  went  through  the  blinding  heat  to  the  old 
rock-and-mud-built  Governor's  Palace. 

We  were  ushered  in  and  passed  the  body- 
guard of  the  Governor,  which  consisted  of  an 
Arab  with  a  spear,  a  soldier  with  an  old-fash- 
ioned gun,  and  another  man  with  a  sort  of  a 
tomahawk.  The  Governor  had  a  very  long 
and  narrow  face,  with  a  small  black  chin 
beard.  He  wore  a  fez  and  nervously 
counted  beads,  much  irritated  at  his  servants 
because  of  the  irregular  way  they  served  the 
coffee  and  cigarettes.  He  kept  Ameene,  the 
interpreter,  busy,  for  he  wished  to  know  all 
about  us — from  where  we  had  come  and  when 
we  were  going.     After  I  had  made  a  bluff  at 

[132] 


AN  IMPORTANT  CEREMONY 

smoking  fifty  cigarettes,  and  drinking  as  many 
cups  of  coffee,  we  were  served  with  some  of 
that  red  sticky  lemonade,  or  syrup,  which 
seemed  to  completely  close  our  throats. 

All  this  time  the  Governor  sat  on  an  old 
dais,  trying  so  hard  to  be  dignified  that  it  was 
almost  humorous.  A  row  of  men  against  the 
opposite  wall  of  the  room  seemed  to  be  mem- 
bers of  his  cabinet,  or  advisory  board,  and  thev 
were  mostly  very  fat  men. 

As  we  started  to  leave  one  of  the  fat  men 
whispered  something  to  Sheikh  Ali,  and  after 
we  were  outside  I  noticed  that  the  big  hand- 
some Sheikh  had  been  detained.  Haffez  came 
to  me  with  a  peculiar  twinkle  in  his  eye  and 
told  me  that  apparently  we  had  gotten  into  a 
queer  situation.  Sheikh  Ali,  it  seems,  had 
been  "wanted"  for  murder  in  Membig  for  a 
number  of  years,  and  as  this  was  the  first  time 
he  had  been  to  the  town  for  more  than  eight 
years,  he  had  been  detained.  Haffez  wanted 
me  to  go  back  to  the  Governor  and  tell  him 
that  as  Sheikh  Ali  was  my  guest  it  would 
not  be  fair  to  arrest  him  now.  In  other  words 
I  was  to  inform  his  Excellency  that  his  fingers 
were  crossed  and  that  he  ought  to  turn  Ali 

[133] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

loose.  After  I  had  gone,  if  they  could  take 
him,  well  and  good. 

I  was  getting  ready  to  go  to  the  Governor's 
office  and  spring  the  speech,  when  Ali  himself 
came  out  with  a  broad  grin,  saying  that  the 
Governor  had  let  him  off  from  the  murder  pro- 
vided he  resumed  paying  his  camel  tax,  which 
had  been  overlooked  since  the  murder  was 
committed.  We  had  hardly  stopped  laughing 
and  gotten  back  to  our  own  quarters,  when  an 
excited  servant  came  dashing  ahead  to  clear  the 
way  and  to  tell  us  that  the  Governor  was  about 
to  repay  our  visit. 

When  the  Governor  came,  after  the  usual 
rush  of  coffee  and  cigarettes,  we  had  rather  a 
pleasant  visit  and  talked  as  if  we  had  not  seen 
each  other  five  minutes  before.  He  was  much 
interested  in  America  and  its  political  customs. 
At  the  request  of  Akmet  Haffez,  I  told  him 
some  Silverton  stories.  He  was  more  than  in- 
terested in  my  father  and  requested  to  be  in- 
formed of  the  latter's  health  as  soon  as  I  re- 
turned to  America.  There  was  no  more  talk 
of  Sheikh  All's  crime  and  I  have  often  won- 
dered whether  he  is  paying  those  camel  taxes ! 


[134] 


CHAPTER  XI 

AS  TO  DOGS ;  AND  AS  TO  ONE  DOG  IN  PARTICULAR. 

This  chaj)ter  is  going  to  be  a  digression.  I 
am  going  to  let  horses  go  by  for  the  moment 
and  talk  about  something  else.  So  you  have 
fair  warning  to  skip  the  chapter  and  catch  up 
further  on.  But  after  all,  my  present  text  is 
"dog";  and  if  you  are  truly  a  horse-lover  you 
must  almost  always  necessarily  be  a  dog-lover. 
The  two  things  somehow  go  together. 

Besides,  although  the  rather  involved  story 
I  am  about  to  relate,  began  in  Morris  Plains, 
N.  J.,  and  was  continued  in  Paris,  Constanti- 
nople and  Aleppo,  it  ended  in  the  desert  and 
on  the  way  to  visit  the  Sheikh  Ali,  of  which  I 
told  in  the  last  chapter.  That  is  my  excuse 
to  you  for  telling  it  at  all.  To  myself  I  do  not 
have  to  make  any  excuse  of  any  kind — I  just 
simply  have  to  tell  the  story.  And  here  it  is 
for  what  it  is  worth : 

When  I  left  Morris  Plains  I  wanted  to  take 

[  135  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

with  me  two  worthy  Airedale  terriers  that 
were  more  or  less  (rather  more)  members  of 
the  family.  Instantly  there  went  up  from  the 
human  part  of  the  household,  a  wail  that  the 
dogs  would  be  in  the  way.  One  of  the  dogs 
had  been  on  a  trip  as  far  as  Oregon,  and  had 
never  been  in  the  way;  but  as  this  wail  went 
up  from  everybody  who  was  not  in  the  least 
concerned  in  the  matter,  and  notwithstanding 
that  the  dogs  wanted  to  go,  I  chucked  the  plan. 
I  hated  to  leave  them,  for  a  dog's  love  in  a 
strange  place  is  comforting,  and  these  two  dogs 
I  had  known  from  puppies,  and  they  knew 
me.  But  they  were  left  behind  and  not  even 
allowed  to  say  good-bye  to  me  at  the  station, 
and  after  that,  they  were  forgotten  for  a  time 
at  least. 

On  the  voyage  to  Havre  we  met  a  traveller, 
an  Englishman,  of  course,  who  had  lived  and 
hunted  everywhere,  and  who  insisted  at  every 
point  in  the  conversation  "that  on  the  Eu- 
phrates River,  one  always  needed  a  dog." 
That  was  enough ;  I  am  not  a  hunter,  but  I  was 
pining  for  an  excuse  to  get  a  dog.  So,  at 
Paris,  the  first  thing  I  inquired  for  was  a  dog 
shop  which  had  for  sale  the  right  kind  of  a 
dog.     Mile  after  mile  I  rode  in  taximeters  and 

[136] 


AS  TO  DOGS 

borrowed  autos,  always  hunting  dogs,  and  at 
the  last  moment  I  got  on  the  track  of  a  shoi^ 
and  such  a  dog  as  I  described ;  a  dog  that  would 
be  a  companion,  a  hunter,  and  above  all  a 
friend.  But  we  had  httle  time  left  in  which 
to  buy  a  dog. 

We  were  actually  on  the  way  to  catch  the 
Orient  express  for  Constantinople  before  we 
got  a  chance  to  go  to  this  particular  dog  shop. 
A  woman  ran  it;  a  dark-complexioned  woman, 
with  black  hair  which  was  exquisitely  smooth. 
She  showed  the  dog;  it  was  a  large  black-and- 
tan  with  a  bobtail — a  restless  sort  of  cur  which 
she  declared  was  a  sheep-dog.  Anyway,  she 
called  it  something  in  French,  which  Moore 
said  meant  "sheep-dog."  We  didn't  beheve 
JNloore  in  the  least  on  principle,  but  we  believed 
the  woman.  She  was  so  attractive  that  we 
hardly  saw  the  dog,  and  when  she  made  eyes 
at  us  w^e  realized  only  one  thing  and  that  was 
that  she  would  have  made  a  fortune  in  a  New 
York  dog  store — or  almost  any  other  kind  of 
a  store. 

So  we  bought  the  dog.  We  didn't  like  him, 
but  we  bought  him  just  the  same  on  her  guar- 
antee that  he  would  be  a  charming  companion. 
That  seemed  enough  at  the  time.     On  the  train 

[  137^  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

he  was  nervous  and  wanted  to  get  away  from 
me.  He  seemed  to  be  everybody's  dog  but 
mine.  When  we  arrived  at  Constantinople  he 
and  I  were  as  distant  as  ever,  and  at  Bey  rout  it 
was  the  same.  Wherever  we  stopped  he  rec- 
ognized that  I  was  in  the  party,  but  that  he 
was  not  mine.  He  was  more  of  a  nuisance  than 
a  dog.  He  did  not  have  anything  to  recom- 
mend him,  not  even  manners.  About  the  only 
comfort  any  of  us  could  get  out  of  him  was  that 
his  sight  recalled  the  lady  who  sold  him  to  us, 
and  in  that  way  we  coaxed  ourselves  into  the 
belief  that  we  had  already  got  the  $25  worth 
out  of  him.  Long  before  we  arrived  at  Alep- 
po I  began  to  show  the  strain,  and  at  Ale]3- 
230,  after  I  had  carted  him  over  three  thousand 
miles,  I  left  him  in  a  boarding  house,  while  I 
went  to  the  desert  alone. 

As  I  rode  out  at  the  head  of  the  caravan  in 
search  of  the  Anezeh  tribe,  I  realized  that  for 
weeks  (they  would  seem  years  of  care  and  pa- 
tience with  a  wayward  dog)  I  was  to  be  with- 
out even  him,  but  comforted  mvself  with  the 
fact  that,  as  we  evidently  did  not  understand 
each  other's  language,  it  was  best  we  parted.  I 
had  named  him  (the  only  French  word  I 
had    been    able    to    learn)     "Dedong"     (Dis 

[138] 


AS  TO  DOGS 

done!),  which  translated  means  "Say!"     You 
ought    to    have  heard  the  Frenchwoman  say 

that. 

But  we  had  not  ridden  far  into  the  desert  be- 
fore I  missed  something.  I  kept  looking  down 
and  behind  me  to  see  if  something  were  not  fol- 
lowing me.  I  could  not  quite  make  out  at  first 
what  it  was  I  missed,  but  I  knew  that  some- 
thing was  lacking. 

The  red  and  yellow  soil  of  the  desert  seemed 
to  change  into  green  grass  and  greener  trees 
and  I  could  see  the  rich  New  Jersey  landscape 
stretch  away  before  me.  I  was  in  the  desert 
and  in  Morris  Plains  at  the  same  time.  I  grew 
homesick.  Hark!  Was  that  a  familiar  bark 
or  just  the  echo  of  something  I  wanted  to  hear? 
Then  I  knew  that  what  I  missed  most  was  the 
companionship  of  a  dog.  I  thought  at  first, 
of  course,  of  the  Airedales  that  w^anted  to  make 
the  journey  with  me  and  I  felt  more  homesick 
than  ever.  I  longed  even  for  a  sight  of  "De- 
dong."  I  was  sorry  that  he  had  been  left  be- 
hind and  that  I  had  ever  regarded  him  with  dis- 
favor. 

Even  the  excitement  of  the  first  night  in  the 
desert  was  of  little  consolation.  We  had  been 
received  with  great  ceremony  and  all  that  the 

[139] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

Anezeh  had  was  ours,  but  although  I  had  been 
tremendously  impressed,  it  was  not  until  the 
second  night  that  I  began  to  feel  really  at 
home.  On  that  second  night  I  saw  some  dogs. 
Our  tents  were  pitched  in  a  beautiful  spot,  and 
as  the  Bedouins  were  walking  about  gossiping 
of  the  new  arrivals,  I  noticed  how  different 
the  dogs  were  from  the  mangy  curs  we  had 
seen  in  every  village  and  town  from  Constanti- 
nople to  Aleppo.  While  almost  wild,  they 
were  large  and  noble-looking  fellows,  with  big 
heads,  and  were  accustomed  to  drive  flocks  and 
herds.  They  didn't  roam  promiscuously  like 
the  dogs  of  the  town. 

I  saw  at  one  tent  a  litter  of  pups  that  were 
big  and  husky.  This  dog  family  consisted  of 
the  father  and  mother  and  four  children — three 
girls  and  a  boy.  The  boy  walked  out  to  see 
us.  I  stopped  and  patted  him,  whereupon  he 
fell  on  his  back  with  his  heels  up,  and  was  im- 
mensely pleased. 

He  looked  back  at  the  tent  where  his  family 
w^as  and  w^ondered  if  they  were  as  happy  as  he. 
He  saw  in  his  home  a  place  where  only  the 
fittest  or  the  prettiest  survived.  His  father 
was  a  big  powerful  fellow  in  his  prime,  and  he 
would  be  able  to  drive  the  males  from  a  good 

[  140] 


AS  TO  DOGS 

many  litters  before  one  would  eventually  whip 
him.  The  sisters  were  pretty,  and  could  stay 
at  home,  but  for  this  big  overgrown  puppy 
there  was  not  much  of  a  future  with  his  father. 
He  was  so  big  for  his  age  that  his  father 
snarled  at  him,  and  the  neighbors'  dogs  made 
him  keep  out  of  their  tents.  The  only  kindness 
he  got  was  from  his  mother.  He  was  well  fed, 
but  he  was  waiting  for  an  opportunity.  He 
wanted  a  home  of  his  own. 

I  stopped  again  and  he  came  to  me  and  that 
time  we  knew  each  other  a  little  better.  He 
was  still  as  bashful  as  most  pups  who  have 
not  shed  their  first  teeth,  but  as  we  finally 
parted,  I  saw  him  look  at  me  long  and  hope- 
fully. He  seemed  to  tell  me  that  he  was  a  boy 
with  a  purpose  in  life,  whose  father  didn't  un- 
derstand him ;  that  while  it  was  customary  for 
a  boy  to  stay  at  home  and  work  till  he  was 
twenty-one  years  old,  in  his  case  he  would  have 
to  begin  to  do  something  when  he  was  twelve 
or  fourteen,  owing  to  the  determined  nature 
and  unkindly  ways  of  his  parent. 

That  evening  after  the  Bedouins  had  gone, 
a  big  white  baby  head  shoved  its  way  through 
the  curtain  of  my  tent.  The  pup  was  return- 
ing my  visit  in  true  Bedouin  fashion.     He  did 

[141] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

not  walk;  he  crawled  with  politeness.  After 
a  few  moments  taken  up  in  patting  him,  we 
went  to  the  cook's  tent  and  got  better  acquaint- 
ed with  the  aid  of  some  chicken  bones.  I  left 
him  for  the  night,  but  heard  him  barking  at  the 
camels  as  they  came  by  about  midnight.  The 
next  morning  he  was  there;  his  opportunity 
had  come  and  he  had  taken  it. 

He  had  filled  the  only  vacancy,  perhaps,  on 
the  great  Arabian  desert  from  Nejd  to  Aleppo. 
There  was  probably  not  a  tent,  except  mine, 
that  was  not  carefully  watched  by  many  dogs. 
His  tail  was  poised  in  a  different  way.  He 
had  actually  grown  during  the  night,  and  he 
had  the  ways  of  a  full-fledged  dog,  and 
wouldn't  let  others  come  around.  He  watched 
the  saddle,  and  lying  on  the  saddle  blankets, 
with  his  big  brown  eyes  wide  open,  he  was 
thinking  how  to  manage  his  empire.  All  day 
he  went  from  tent  to  tent,  from  saddle  to  horse, 
as  if  the  weight  of  the  whole  caravan  was  on 
his  shoulders. 

He  was  no  longer  a  bashful  puppy.  He 
growled  and  barked  when  his  father  and 
mother  drove  a  hundred  sheep  too  close  to  his 
pre-empted  home.  He  wouldn't  even  let  his 
sisters,  who  were  as  dainty   as   girl   puppies 

[142] 


AS  TO  DOGS 

could  be,  sniff  around  the  tent.  They  were 
not  afraid  of  him  at  first,  but  after  he  had 
really  bitten  them,  they  retreated  from  his  ter- 
ritory and  watched  him  with  their  heads  tipped 
to  one  side.  He  sat  at  our  tent  pegs,  and  see- 
ing life  seriously  was  brave  enough  to  tackle  it. 
His  hour  had  arrived  and  he  was  there  with  all 
his  four  feet — and  those  feet  were  the  only 
things  that  were  holding  him  back.  They 
looked  like  a  composite  picture  of  all  the  babies' 
feet  in  the  world.  They  were  heavy  and  cum- 
bersome, but  he  had  not  lost  faith  in  them.  It 
was  strange,  but  you  could  actually  see  him 
grow.  We  laughed  when  we  saw,  an  hour  af t- 
einvards,  that  his  tail  was  an  inch  longer,  held 
higher  up  and  showing  more  independence. 
The  last  thing  that  night  he  was  walking 
among  the  stallions  and  mares  with  an  impor- 
tant air  that  nearly  threw  his  shoulder-blades 
out  of  socket.  During  the  night  I  heard  him 
several  times;  his  growl  was  coarser  and  he 
made  several  tours  to  see  that  everything  was 
all  right. 

At  six  in  the  morning  he  came  to  me,  as 
much  as  to  say:  "These  donkeys  and  sheep  and 
camels  think  that,  because  they  have  known  me 

[  143  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

all  my  life,  they  can  walk  right  over  our  tent 
ropes,  but  I  won't  have  it." 

He  kept  up  this  attitude,  getting  more  and 
more  confidence  in  himself,  until  we  were  ready 
to  start  on  our  visit  to  Sheikh  Ali.  I  had 
wanted  to  take  him  along,  especially  when  he 
was  mouthing  over  my  hands  with  his  sharp 
baby  teeth,  but  his  big  soft  feet  and  legs  looked 
too  young  to  stand  such  a  march,  and  I  gave 
up  the  notion  altogether.  But  the  pup  had 
other  ideas.  We  were  a  half  mile  or  more  on 
our  way  when  Ameene  called  to  me  to  look  in 
the  shadow  of  my  horse,  and  there  almost  under 
my  stirrup  was  the  pup,  lumbering  along.  His 
tail  was  rolled  up  more  importantly  than  ever. 
At  last  he  had  a  mission.  He  had  seen  that 
we  were  without  a  guard,  so  he  had  cast  his  lot 
w4th  ours.  He  recognized  that  we  needed  pro- 
tection and  he  was  giving  it  at  the  cost  of  leav- 
ing home  and  a  good  mother,  and  a  father  who 
was  compelled  to  remain  behind  by  the  laws  of 
home,  to  be  what  he  was.  I  could  not  keep 
my  eyes  from  him,  he  was  so  brave.  He  was 
now  out  of  sight  of  the  environment  that  he 
knew  and  was  going  to  the  big  desert.  At  in- 
tervals he  sniffed  at  my  stirrup  as  if  traveling 
was  new  to  him.     He  was  a  pioneer  without 

[144] 


AS  TO  DOGS 

practice,  and  he  did  not  propose  to  get  lost. 
He  proposed  to  stick  by  me. 

I  thought  of  Senator  Vest's  remarks  when 
he  appeared  in  court  at  St.  Louis  for  a  tramp 
whose  dog  was  killed  by  a  neighbor.  Vest 
spoke  of  one's  children  and  how,  no  matter  with 
what  tender  kindness  and  care  they  were 
reared,  they  would  leave  home  and  parents 
often  without  a  farewell. 

But  there  was  one  friend  of  man,  said  the 
Senator,  who  never  deserted  him;  a  friend  who 
would  lick  the  hand  that  had  no  food  to  offer ; 
a  friend  who,  when  death  came,  when  the  mas- 
ter had  finished  his  life,  when  all  others  had 
returned  from  the  graveyard,  would  mourn  at 
the  grave  itself — his  last,  his  best  friend,  his 
dog !  I  thought  of  that  and  then  of  this  puppy, 
a  little  fellow  offering  his  devotion  for  my 
friendship  and  at  that  moment  giving  me  a 
friendly  glance  from  his  eyes.  He  was  hke 
Jefferson  C.  James,  who  once  ran  for  Mayor  in 
San  Francisco,  and  who  said  in  a  somewhat 
famous  speech:  "I  seen  my  duty  and  I  done 
it."  James  was  not  elected,  but  that  has  noth- 
ing to  do  w4th  this  pup. 

We  followed  Sheikh  Ali  and  Akmet  Haffez 
across  the  plains  for  miles.     We  saw  a  rab- 

[  145  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

bit;  it  was  the  dog's  first,  and  he  fell  over  a 
clod  in  his  initial  race.  He  came  back  to  the 
shadow  of  the  horse,  and  there  ambled  along 
in  a  dignified  way.  Astride  the  best  horse  in 
the  desert,  and  protected  by  the  best  puppy  in 
the  world,  I  was  much  elated.  We  flushed 
some  francolins,  beautiful  birds,  but  he  was  too 
important  to  be  a  bird  dog.  He  was  march- 
ing among  horses  and  men  and  camels.  He 
was  the  only  dog  in  the  caravan  and  at  every 
mile  he  seemed  to  realize  the  fact  more.  He 
was  avoiding  the  camel  thistles  as  best  he  could, 
but  while  more  francolins  went  up  and  his 
attention  was  on  them  for  a  moment  he  got  a 
nasty  burr  in  his  big  soft  foot.  He  went  on 
three  legs  a  while  and  then  showed  of  what 
stuff  he  was  made.  He  rolled  on  his  back  and 
deliberately  gnawed  the  burr  out  with  his 
teeth  without  a  whimper.  He  had  left  mother 
and  father  for  me,  and  he  was  to  meet  emer- 
gencies as  they  came. 

He  was  going  out  where  there  was  a  future, 
and  no  such  little  thing  as  a  thorn,  not  even 
a  camel  thistle,  could  stop  him.  I  wondered 
if  he  would  be  happier  if  he  knew  of  the  glit- 
tering collar  I  was  going  to  get  for  him  when 

[  146  ] 


AS  TO  DOGS 

we  reached  New  York,  and  how  proud  I  knew 
my  own  dogs  would  be  to  meet  him.    With  the 
knowledge  he   would   acquire   on   a   trip   to 
the  Anezeh,  everything  seemed  to  be  before 
him.     Sheikh  Ali  had  galloped  his  bay  mare 
a  mile  ahead  to  the  tents  of  his  own  tribe,  and 
the  horsemen  came  galloping  to  meet  us,  carry- 
ing spears  that  looked  thirty  feet  long.     It  was 
all  excitement  and  the  puppy  ran  ahead  to 
join  it.     We  saw  the  Sheikh's  tent,  a  big  tent 
with  lots  of  men  near  it.     They  were  killing  a 
lamb  and  wolf -like  dogs  were  jumping  around 
it.     Before  I  could  dismount,  or  a  man  come 
to  the  rescue  with  a  spear,  my  volunteer  baby 
guard,  my  puppy,  my  boy  that  was  leaving 
home  at  ten  and  going  out  into  the  world  to 
make  a  living,  was  torn  and  dead.     He  didn't 
whine.     He  had  fought  as  well  as  he  could 
with  his  puppy    teeth,    the    teeth    that    had 
scratched  my  hand  in  play  a  few  hours  before, 
but  they  had  failed  him.     He  had  started  out 
for  himself  to  be  as  much  of  a  man  as  a  dog 
can  ever  be.     He  had  left  home  that  his  father 
might  rule  alone.     But  he  was  gone  and  it  was 
all  over!     The    opportunity    we    thought    so 
bright  was   a  blank.     The  career  that  had 
started  so  well  had  ended  quickly.     The  first 

[  147  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

real  fight  he  had  ever  made  was  the  only  one 
he  ever  was  to  make.     He  died  a  real  hero. 

I  felt  as  if  I  could  have  destroyed  the  dogs 
of  the  desert  for  this  wanton  murder.  The 
affection  of  this  puppy  was  spontaneous  and  it 
was  mine.  There  was  no  glittering  collar  on 
him  as  he  died,  but  he  died  as  he  had  traveled 
— in  the  shadow  of  the  horse,  before  his  mas- 
ter's eyes  and  without  turning  tail. 


[148] 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  MEETING  ^VITH  HASHEM  BEY,  THE  GREAT 
SHEIKH  OF  THE  DESERT. 

With  that  dog  story  off  my  mind  (I  simply 
had  to  tell  it),  the  narrative  of  the  trip  may 
be  resumed.  We  left  the  Circassian  village  at 
three  in  the  afternoon  and  were  back  at  our 
tent  at  five  in  the  morning.  For  us  the  ride 
was  tiresome,  but  the  horses  were  as  fresh  as 
ever.  This  wonderful  endurance  of  the 
Anezeh  horses,  although  we  expected  much, 
was  a  constant  surprise.  They  never  seemed 
to  tire  and  I  shall  relate  soon  a  remarkable  in- 
stance of  their  strength  and  stamina. 

The  event  of  importance  to  which  we  were 
now  looking  forward  was  the  meeting  with 
Hashem  Bey,  the  Sheikh  of  Sheikhs  of  the 
desert.  No  sooner  indeed  had  we  arrived  at 
our  tents  than  we  were  informed  that  the 
ruler  of  the  Anezeh  had  returned  with  a  large 
number  of  his  warriors  to  see  us,  and  so  after 

[  149  ] 


The    Supreme    Shiekh,    Hashem    Bey. 


MEETING  WITH  HASHEM  BEY 

a  few  hours'  rest  the  meeting  came  about. 
Haffez  walked  over,  with  the  Sheikh  on  his 
arm,  and  we  met  just  outside  of  our  own  tents. 

Hashem  Bey  was  tall  and  thin,  a  young  man 
of  thirty-four,  or  even  younger.  He  was 
strictly  the  war  type;  his  eyes  were  set  far 
back  under  the  bones,  without  being  wide 
apart.  After  we  had  talked  for  ten  minutes 
and  had  assured  him  that  it  did  not  seem 
right  that  the  greatest  Sheikh  in  all  the  Syrian 
desert  should  have  ridden  a  journey  of  three 
days  to  meet  us,  5  noticed  that  there  was 
something  lacking  in  him. 

He  was  not  the  big  man  Akmet  Haffez  was. 
He  did  not  possess  the  latter's  fine  sense  of 
humor  or,  indeed,  any  sense  of  humor;  he  was 
without  that  indefinable  air  that  immediately 
suggests  gentility  and  good  breeding.  He 
was  very  evidently  not  particularly  pleased  to 
meet  us  and  the  reason  for  this  soon  came  out. 
I  had  called  his  attention  with  a  great  deal 
of  pride  to  the  fact  that  I  was  riding  his  brown 
Maneghi  Sbeyel  stallion,  the  pride  of  his  en- 
tire people,  and  a  present,  by  order  of  him,  to 
the  Governor  of  Aleppo,  and  the  latter's  pres- 
ent to  me.  His  lip  curled  and  he  made  that 
motion  of  his  hands,  slapping  them  past  each 

[151] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

other,  common  among    the    Bedouins,    which 
meant  that  the  horse  was  lost  to  them. 

In  all  our  subsequent  intercourse  this  loss  of 
the  "Pride  of  the  Desert"  seemed  uppermost 
in  his  thoughts  and  he  never  allowed  us  to  for- 
get that  he  was  not  pleased  with  the  Governor 

of  Aleppo.  Be- 
fore the  first  inter- 
view was  over  I 
realized  that  we 
were  a  disappoint- 
m  e  n  t  to  each 
other,  and  was 
secretly  glad  I  had 
not  ridden  three 
days  to  see  him,  as 
glad,  I  imagine, 
as  he  was  sorrv 
he  had  done  so, 
though,  of  course, 
he  was  in  duty  bound  to  take  the  ride  in 
honor  of  Akmet  Haffez. 

Perhaps,  too,  my  dress  had  something  to  do 
with  his  disapj)ointment.  I  was  looking  shop- 
worn, to  say  the  least,  and  he  might  have 
thought  that  I  would  be  dressed  like  some  of 
the  foreign  government  ^rmy    officials    who 

[152] 


The  Sheikh  of  all  Sheikhs. 


MEETING  WITH  HASHEM  BEY 

often  came  to  him  to  buy   horses.     We    got 
along  well,  but  never  easily. 

Finally  I  took  a  walk  with  Akmet  Haffez, 
and  when  we  were  alone,  except  for  Ameene, 
the  interpreter,  Haffez  asked  in  a  low  voice 
how  I  liked  the  great  Hashem  Bey. 

I  looked  at  the  old  man's  face  to  see  if  he 
was  prepared  for  an  honest  answer,  and  see- 
ing that  he  wanted  my  candid  opinion,  I  told 
him  I  was  glad  Hashem  Bey  had  ridden  three 
days  instead  of  us.     The  old  man  rolled  with 
quiet  laughter,  and  taking  hold  of  my  arm  a 
little  tighter,  said:  "I  am  glad  to  see  you  are  a 
judge  of  human  nature  as  well  as  of  horses. 
While  he's  the  Sheikh  of  all,  there  are  thou- 
sands of  men  in  his  own  tribe  that  are  far  bet- 
ter than  he,  as  men.  He  is  angry,  as  you  know, 
because  the  Governor  of  Aleppo  gave  you  the 
^laneghi,  but  let  me  tell  you  something  more : 
he  has  already  expressed  an  unwillingness  to 
put  his  seal  on  the  horse's  pedigree.     But," 
and  the  old  man's  eyes  flashed,  "I  will  force  him 
to  do  it  or  else  make  him  appear  ridiculous  be- 
fore Allah  and  his  own  tribes." 

Hashem  Bey  seemed  to  be  more  interested 
in  our  rifles  and  guns  than  anything  else.  I 
presented  him  with  my  rifle  (a  special  "Sav- 

[  153  ] 


M|l|^MmMBBaL 


L^O^ 


jJO^ 


il.:...-sv.  ....   >^j^_ 


*  "  '  ■  ■  t 


Pedigree  of  Haleb,  the  brown  Maeghi  Sbeyl,  the  favorite  stallion  of 
the  desert  of  1906.  This  pedigree  bears  the  seals  of  Sheil^h  Ali  Rashid, 
Achmet  Haffez  and  Hatchem  Bey.  It  is  a  pedigree  that  would  be  bowed  to 
from  Nejd  to  Aleppo. 

IX  THE  NAME  OP  THE  MOST  MERCIFUL  ALLAH  : 

Praise  be  to  Allah,  the  Lord  of  all  the  universe,  and  prayers  and  greetings  upon  our  Master  Mohammet  and  upon 
all  his  family  and  his  followers. 

God  the  All-high  has  said  in  His  cherished  Book:  "By  those  which  run  swiftly  with  a  panting  noise,  and 'which 
strike  fire,  and  whicli  make  an  incursion  in  the  morning,  raising  a  cloud  of  dust  and  piercing  the  ranks  of  a  host." 
Also  Ali,  may  God  bathe  his  face  with  glory,  has  said  :  "Plenty  is  knotted  to  the  horses'  manes."  He  has  also  said  : 
*'(on)  Their  backs  are  splendor  and  (in)  their  wombs  are  treasure.' ' 

And  now:  tlie  pure  brown  stallion  who  is  devoid  of  white  and  whose  age  is  five  years,  going  on  his  sixth,  is  a  Mah- 
naky  Sabily.  His  sire  is  Showainian  Sabbah,  who  breeds  pure  and  exclusive,  and  is  consequently  free  of  all  defects. 
And  we  liave  not  testified  except  to  what  we  have  known,  and  we  are  incognizant  of  tlie  unknown. 

Written  the  25th  of  Hamada  the  last  1324  (Hegira)  and  the  15th  of  August,  1906  (A.  D.). 

(Signed)  Ahmad  Hafez.         (Signed)  Sh?:ikh  El-Boukhamis.         (Signed)  Kaimakam  (Governor),  Anezeh  Arabs, 

Ali  El-Kashid,  Hagiji  Bek  Menhad, 


MEETING  WITH  HASHEM  BEY 

age")  and  with  all  the  cartridges  I  had  with 
me,  and  he  took  them  not  so  much  as  a  present 
as  an  addition  to  his  supply  of  guns.  Of 
course  we  discussed  horses  with  him  at  great 
length,  and,  as  the  highest  authority  in  the 
world  on  Arab  horses,  he  cleared  away  -many 
doubtful  points  relative  to  the  breed.  I  had 
my  Arab  horse  books  along  with  me,  including 
the  last  volume  of  Roger  D.  Upton, -in  which 
he  mentions  all  the  famihesgand  sub-families  of 
the  Arab  horse.  These  were  carefully  exam- 
ined by  the  Sheikh,  and  those  which  were  con- 
sidered "Chubby"  by  the  Anezeh  were  marked 
thus.  He  said  the  Abeyeh  Sherrakieh  mare, 
which  Arthur  JNIoore  had  just  ridden  back  from 
Aleppo,  had  the  rarest  head  there  was  in  the 
desert,  and  she,  herself,  was  one  of  the  most 
valuable  of  mares. 

Moore  had  come  to  the  desert  an  entire  skep- 
tic on  the  subject  of  Arab  horse.  He  had 
heard  in  America  so  much  talk  about  the  Arab 
by  Ignorant  people  and  had  failed  to  find  any 
proof  of  their  stories,  that  he  was  an  entire  dis- 
believer. He  went  to  the  desert  convinced 
that  our  Cayuse  horses  could  outrun,  outlast, 
outwork  and  outdo  the  Arab  in  everything  ex- 
cept looks. 

[155] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 


But  on  the  way  back  from  Aleppo  he  was  en- 
tirely converted  and  became  an  enthusiast. 
As  I  mentioned  above,  he  was  riding  the 
Abeyeh  mare  and  determined  to  put  his  to  the 
test.  It  was  a  foolish  thing  to  do,  for  the  heat 
was  terrific  and  the  mare  had  a  bad  cough  and 
cold.     At  home  she  would  have  been  in  the 


m^. 


An   old  warrior   of   the   Anezeh. 

care  of  a  veterinary.  Moore,  with  his  rifle  and 
ammunition  and  $4,000  in  gold,  which  he  was 
carrying,  weighed  300  pounds.  Nevertheless 
he  galloped  her  thirty-five  miles  in  four  hours 
and  a  half,  carrying  all  the  weight.     He  did 

[156] 


MEETING  WITH  HASHEM  BEY 

not  follow  any  beaten  roadway,  but  took  her 
over  the  rocks  of  the  desert  in  a  bee-line.  The 
further  she  went,  he  said,  the  stronger  she 
seemed  to  get,  and  the  better  she  seemed  to 
move.  At  the  end  her  cough  did  not  seem  to 
be  worse,  and  when  Moore  was  on  her  she 
didn't  seem  to  be  tired.  She  showed  some  of 
the  effects  of  the  test  when  she  was  standing 
still  by  continually  resting.  Moore  wanted  the 
Arab  horse  to  show  him  something,  and  he  got 
it  without  getting  it  second-hand.  From  that 
time  on  he  stood  up  for  the  Arab  horse. 

What  made  this  trial  of  the  mare  the  more 
wonderful  was  that  while  she  was  considered 
among  the  Anezeh  as  their  greatest  race  mare, 
she  had  probably  never  before  had  on  her  back 
more  than  150  to  160  pounds.  While  Moore 
was  riding  her  the  first  evening  we  left  Aleppo, 
Akmet  Haffez  had  outrun  everybody  in  the 
party  with  his  Hamdenieh  Simrieh  filly,  until 
he  came  to  race  the  Abeyeh  mare.  Then,  to 
the  utter  astonishment  of  everybody,  this  small 
mare,  carrying  the  handicap,  easily  outfooted 
Haffez's  horse  in  a  half  mile  run. 

Among  the  horses  we  purchased  at  this  time 
was  a  bay  Seglawieh  Jedranieh  mare,  owned  by 
an  old  Bedouin,  who   wore    a   most    tattered 

[157] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

Keff eyeh  or  headdress  and  whose  face  was  one 
of  the  most  expressionless  I  had  ever  seen. 
She  sat  low  to  the  ground,  but  was  very  power- 
ful and  broad;  her  head,  though  not  like  the 


ter^i   Hi  ,^%.^o  ■d.Jn.    a,~j  if^ 


"■& 


When  I  offered  this  expressionless  old  horseman  a  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  (French)  for  his  Seglawieh-Jedranieh  mare, 
with  a  grunt  of  disgust  he  mounted  and  rode  away. 

Abeyeh  Sherrakieh's,  was  an  expressive  one. 
The  fact  of  her  being  a  Seglawieh  Jedranieh 
made  her  of  unusual  interest  and  more  than  a 
thousand  Bedouins  gathered  round  to  see  her. 
She  was  a  beast  of  evidently  unusual  power. 

Akmet  Haffez  asked  me  quietly  if  I  wanted 
her,  and  I  said  I  did.     He  advised  me  not  to 

[  158  ] 


MEETING  WITH  HASHEM  BEY 

pay  over  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  Turkish 
pounds,  but  at  my  suggestion  he  offered  one 
hundred  and  fifty,  and  the  mare  was  led  away 
by  the  old  expressionless  man,  with  a  sneer  on 
his  face.  She  was  taken  away  and  hobbled 
near  some  other  horses,  and  her  owner  came  in 
under  the  big  tent  where  he  joined  the  circle 
of  others  who  were  smoking,  always  preserv- 
ing the  same  cold  countenance. 

His  face  was  so  remarkable,  and  his  eyes  so 
void  of  any  emotion,  that  I  inquired  of  him  if 
he  would  object  to  my  drawing  his  j)icture. 
The  expression  of  his  face  never  changed;  he 
just  gave  his  hand  an  upward  toss,  and  a 
grunt,  which  meant  "No." 

We  were  shown  other  horses  of  the  Anezeh, 
and  bought  a  white  mare,  a  JNIaneghieh  Sbeyel, 
standing  over  fifteen  hands  high,  which  was  to 
foal  within  ninety  days  from  that  time.  Her 
eyes  were  large  and  very  black  with  brilliant 
high  lights,  but  at  the  same  time  with  a  soft 
kind  look. 

Arthur  Moore,  who  had  missed  his  present 
in  Aleppo  by  leaving  us  at  a  critical  moment, 
was  presented  with  a  five-year-old  stallion,  a 
Maneghi  Hedruj.  In  the  afternoon  we  had 
the  big  camel  feast. 

[  159  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

We  spent  several  days  with  the  Anezeh  and 
the  faces  I  had  admired  so  much  at  first  had 
begun  to  wear  on  me.  After  all,  these  desert 
Bedouins  were,  first  and  last,  warriors,  and  the 
constant  fighting  expression  in  their  faces  was 
becoming  monotonous.  The  idleness  in  which 
they  lived,  with  no  pur23ose  in  life  other  than 
to  sit  around  till  some  raid  was  started,  was 
wearing  on  me. 

We  had  enjoyed  our  stay;  we  had  feasted  on 
a  camel  (they  said  it  was  a  young  one)  ;  we 
had  talked  horse  pedigrees  with  the  Anezeh 
for  days  without  interruption ;  we  had  seen  the 
greatest  animals  they  had,  and  now  owned 
some  of  them;  we  had  bought  nearly  all  the 
horses  that  my  Irade  would  permit  to  be  ex- 
ported; time  was  flying  and  we  were  a  long 
way  from  New  York.  It  seemed  when  I 
looked  at  the  map  as  if  we  never  would  be 
able  to  get  there.  Next  day  was  set  for  our 
departure,  and  after  one  of  the  most  enjoy- 
able nights  of  our  visit,  passed  in  listening  to 
horse  stories  and  desert  legends,  we  retired 
about  eleven  o'clock,  and  were  up  by  daylight 
getting  the  luggage  ready  to  start.  The  fare- 
well feast  was  over,  our  tents  were  coming 

[160] 


05 


to 

< 


0) 

a; 

< 

d 
rt 


O 


o 


ft 

CIS 

o 


Oh 


't  'K'rr-™'  il  III  »ii  mil    iiwiw 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

down  and  our  stallions  and  mares  were  being 
led  off. 

My  dear  old  Bedouin  brother,  Haffez,  knew 
that  I  liked  the  farmer  Bedouin  best,  but  he 
came  to  me,  resting  his  weight  on  my  shoulder 
as  he  leaned  on  me  and  holding  Ameene  by 
the  other  hand.  He  had  one  request.  He 
asked  that  when  I  bade  Hashem  Bey  good-bye, 
I  should  wish  him  success  in  his  wars.  That, 
of  course,  was  perfectly  reasonable,  and  we 
both  hoped  that  it  would  soothe  Hashem,  for 
he  was  still  cross  about  the  "Pride  of  the 
Desert." 

And  the  time  had  nearly  arrived  to  start; 
the  last  coffee  tune  was  being  played  and  the 
Maneghi  Sbeyel  stallion  was  saddled,  waiting. 
Hundreds  of  Anezeh  horsemen  were  bidding 
him  good-bye,  and  tying  blue  beads  in  his  mane 
and  tail,  to  keep  off  the  evil  eye.  Akmet  Haf- 
fez gave  me  the  signal  and  we  all  arose. 
Hashem  Bey  knew,  of  course,  that  we  were 
leaving.  He  walked  out  from  under  the  tent 
where  the  seal-brown  stallion  stood  fretting  to 
join  the  other  horses.  I  took  the  Sheikh  by 
the  hand,  and  told  him,  through  the  interpreter, 
that  I  hoped  he  would  live  a  long  and  happy 
life,  and  that  when  he  had  to  die  he  would  die 

[162] 


MEETING  WITH  HASHEM  BEY 

on  horseback  in  the  heat  of  war.  He  raised 
the  back  of  my  hand  to  his  forehead,  and  we 
parted.  He  gave  the  Maneghi  a  good-bye. 
Sheikh  AH,  of  the  Abu  Gomuese,  walked  by 
my  horse,  holding  hands  for  a  few  yards,  to 
assure  me  that  they  had  all  enjoyed  the  visit, 
and  we  were  oif . 


'Haleb's"   head. 


At  Chicago  in  1893,  the  World's  Fair  Arab 
horses  were  unable  to  stand  up  in  their  Bedouin 
shoes  on  the  slick  polished  dirt,  and  the  Arabs, 
shortly  after  their  arrival,  changed  to  the 
American  horseshoe.  I  saw  the  small  horse, 
the  subject  of  the  following  letter,  have 
both  his  forward  tendons  practically  cut  off  by 
overreaching.     Notwithstanding   that,     about 

[163] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

ten  years  later,  with  a  drunken  groom,  he  ran 
away  about  twenty  miles.  Before  he  was  sold 
to  Mr.  Shoemaker  (the  present  owner),  he 
was  "let  down"  in  his  hind  pasterns. 

In  view  of  this  I  think  Mr.  Shoemaker's 
statement  most  remarkable.  It  shows  a  per- 
formance greater  even  than  Moore's  in  the  des- 
ert, or  that  of  General  Colby's  riding  in  Ne- 
braska on  the  Grant  stallions. 

Mr.  Shoemaker  writes  as  follows : 

"I  purchased  the  Arab  stallion  'Koubishan,' 
which  I  have  since  re-christened  'Nasir  Khos- 
ran,'  of  Mr.  Davenport,  on  April  1st,  1906. 
He  is  a  horse  perhaps  19  years  old,  14.2  hands 
high,  of  a  peculiar  color.  I  rode  him  daily  in 
Central  Park  last  spring,  and  early  in  June 
shipped  him  to  my  country  home  at  McElhat- 
tan,  Penn.,  which  is  situated  in  the  wildest 
and  most  mountainous  part  of  that  state, 
hundred  miles  through  the  mountains,  never 
going  less  than  thirty  miles  in  a  day.  We  did 
not  go  continuously,  however,  as  I  frequently 
rested  at  attractive  spots  to  enjoy  the  country, 
but  never  stayed  more  than  a  day  in  one  place. 

"During  the  balance  of  the  summer  I  rode 
him  from  time  to  time,  but  while  I  was  absent 

[164] 


MEETING  WITH  HASHEM  BEY 

in  New  York  he  was  never  exercised.  De- 
spite this,  he  was  just  as  fresh  and  sturdy  as  if 
in  constant  use.  Early  in  October  he  was  ex- 
ercised by  my  hired  boy,  and  towards  the  mid- 
dle of  that  month  I  started  on  another  tour 
with  him.  We  traveled  along  Pine  Creek  to 
Morris  Run,  Penn.,  by  easy  stages,  and  on 
October  14th  started  back.  The  day  was  fine 
for  what  proved  to  be  a  memorable  ride  of 
seventy  miles.  The  temperature  registered  at 
thirty,  the  sky  was  clear  and  the  ground  cov- 
ered with  frost.  'Nasir  Khosran'  or  'Koubi- 
shan,'  carried,  including  saddle  and  myself,  two 
hundred  and  ten  pounds.  I  was  accompanied 
by  my  cousin,  Mr.  James  W.  Quiggle,  second, 
and  my  friend,  JNIr.  G.  Scott  Smith,  who  rode 
tough  western  ponies.  We  left  ^lorris  Run 
at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  arrived  at 
McElhattan  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening, 
resting  two  hours  at  mid-day  in  English  Cen- 
ter. We  kept  up  a  stiff  pace,  averaging  seven 
miles  an  hour  for  the  entire  seventy  miles, 
which  resulted  in  the  western  ponies  playing 
out  after  thirty-five  miles,  but  the  Arab,  carry- 
ing his  heavy  load,  finished  the  trip  alone  in 
first-class  condition,  although  the  roads  were 
all  up  and  down  hill,  and  the  next  morning  he 

[  165  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

was  as  fresh  as  ever,  and  did  not  even  lose  his 
appetite.  That,  I  think,  is  a  pretty  good  test 
for  the  Arab  horse,  and  proves  him  to  be 
adapted  to  the  most  exacting  work  in  the 
roughest  country,  for  it  is  almost  impossible  to 
have  imagined  what  he  would  have  done  if  he 
had  been  a  much  younger  horse.  He  is  to-day 
in  superb  condition,  and  during  Christmas  hol- 
idays I  drove  him  in  a  sleigh,  where  he  showed 
great  speed." 


[166] 


CHAPTER  XIII 

STARTING  ON  THE  RETURN  JOURNEY  AND  SOME 
ORIENTAL  BARGAINING — ^THE  BEGINNING  OF 
THE  STORY  OF  THE  MARE. 

Hashem  Bey  was  left  behind,  and  though 
our  faces  were  once  more  turned  toward  the 
west  we  were  still  in  the  desert  and  were 
to  have  more  adventures  and  to  witness  moue 
shrewd  oriental  bargaining  on  the  part  of 
Akmet  Haffez.  After  leaving  the  main  body 
of  the  Anezeh  we  rode  for  five  hours  and 
camped  near  a  spring  which  bubbled  up  from 
under  the  hot  rocks. 

We  were  waked  in  the  morning  by  the 
neighing  of  the  horses  we  had  purchased  and 
found  we  had  been  aroused  by  the  approach 
of  a  Bedouin  riding  a  bay  mare  and  leading  a 
two-year-old  colt. 

The  latter,  it  seemed,  was  the  Seglawi  Jed- 
ran  colt,  which  the  Anezeh  had  promised  to 
send  to  me  for  inspection.     Before  we  could 

[  167  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

leave  the  tent  Haffez  sent  word  to  us  to  stay 
in  our  tents  as  long  as  possible.  This  Se- 
glawieh  Jedranieh  mare,  he  said,  was  the  finest 
possessed  by  the  Anezeh.  She  had  been 
brought,  not  to  be  sold  herself,  but  to  show 
what  her  colt  was  worth.  He  would  buy  the 
colt  as  cheaply  as  possible  and  then,  later, 
would  refer  in  an  off-hand  and  indifferent  way 


Curious   visitors   much   astonished   at   watching  me   sketch. 

to  the  mother.  Through  the  flap  of  the  tent 
we  admired  the  pair.  Mother  and  son  were  as 
much  alike,  in  general  character,  as  two  peas. 
There  were  the  same  markings  on  their  white 

[168] 


CD 

a    . 

o)  — ; 

03  03 

C       -I-' 

»-"  «i 

c^  ^ 

ac 

'O   o 

■5  a 

M  o 
c  -^ 

-4-> 


'O 


w 


as 

a 
S 


/        i 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

legs,  the  same  general  character  of  hind  quar- 
ters, and  the  same  very  "racy"  appearance 
throughout. 

We  dressed  and  walked  to  where  the  two 
were  standing  on  a  plot  of  grass  about 
twenty  feet  square.  There  was  much  delay  in 
getting  the  colt.  Haffez,  the  wisest  old  horse- 
trader  of  the  desert,  thought  it  was  not  best 
to  buy  him  too  quickly.  He  and  the  Bedouin 
had  agreed  closely  enough  to  a  price  to  make 
the  final  arrangement  an  easy  matter;  still  he 
thought  it  would  be  policy  not  to  hurry  the 
deal.  He  wanted  to  wait;  not  that  it  would 
make  any  difference  in  the  eventual  price  of 
the  colt,  but  it  would  make  it  easier  to  buy  an- 
other colt,  a  yearling  and  a  full  brother  of  the 
one  in  question.  Moreover,  in  case  we  wanted 
to  bargain  for  the  mare,  the  effect  of  an  hour's 
delay  might  mean  something  notable  in  the 
matter  of  price. 

After  all  there  is  a  fascination  about  this 
oriental  bargaining.  Arabs  will  never  set  a 
price  on  their  horse.  Unless  your  price  suits 
him  he  will  lead  his  horse  away,  nor  will  the 
desert  Bedouin  under  any  condition  tell  a  lie 
about  his  horse's  breeding. 

After  breakfast  the  Bedouin  was  brought 

[170] 


STARTING  ON  RETURN  JOURNEY 

to  me,  his  hand  was  placed  in  mine,  while  the 
Arabs  jabbered  and  I  knew  that  the  colt  had 
finally  been  purchased.  The  Bedouin  even 
promised  that  he  would  go  to  his  tent  and  bring 
the  yearling  brother  of  the  colt,  a  chestnut  with 
the  same  markings,  and  join  us  where  we  were 
to  camp  that  night,    five   hours    on    towards 

Aleppo. 

As  we  departed  the  mare  was  a  picture. 
She  walked  with  the  grace  of  a  well-bred 
woman;  her  tail  would  gracefully  sway  from 
side  to  side ;  her  ears  were  ever  in  motion,  and 
her  eyes  sparkled.  The  very  sight  of  her  rest- 
ed us  from  the  long  day's  ride  of  the  day 
before  and  then  she  broke  into  a  gallop  and  her 
swinging  tassels  were  soon  lost  sight  of  as  she 
disappeared  on  the  horizon. 

The  mother  out  of  sight,  we  turned  to  look 
at  her  two-year-old  son.  He  seemed  finer  than 
others  we  had  of  the  same  age.  There  was  an 
inherited  dignity  which  the  rest  did  not  have. 
We  were  already  anxious  to  see  his  full  brother 
which  was  supposed  to  be  better  still.  Both 
of  them  were  sired  by  the  great  Hamdani- 
Simri  chestnut  horse  that  the  Anezeh  are  so 
proud  of  and  thus  combined  the  two  rare  breeds 
of  the  desert,  the    Seglawi    Jedran    and    the 

[171] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

Hamdani  Simri.  The  mother  was  a  Se- 
glawieh,  and  thus  according  to  desert  rule  the 
colts  were  of  blood  of  the  Seglawi  Jedrans. 

That  night  we  camj)ed  at  a  village  owned  by 
relatives  of  Akmet  Haffez.  At  ten  o'clock  the 
Bedouin  returned  with  his  beautiful  mare, 
bringing  her  baby  and  last  child,  a  chestnut 
colt,  big  for  his  age,  with  white  in  the  face,  and 
with  the  same  peculiar  white  feet  as  his  mother 
and  brother.  His  mane  and  tail  were  light 
yellow,  giving  him  a  babyish  appearance.  He 
v/as  even  finer  than  the  two-year-old. 

Again  I  was  driven  away  by  Haffez  (who 
wanted  to  drive  a  close  bargain)  lest  I  might 
show  how  much  I  wanted  the  mare  for  which 
he  soon  wanted  to  make  an  offer.  I  went  into 
the  tent,  but  was  very  restless.  I  could  tell 
there  was  some  friction.  Finally  I  saw  the 
Bedouin  mount  the  mare  and  start  off  with 
the  yearling  by  his  side ;  and,  after  hearing  that 
Haffez  had  let  the  bargain  fall  through  be- 
cause of  a  difference  of  four  pounds  ($16.00), 
I  got  him  to  reconsider.  A  man  with  stout 
lungs  brought  the  Bedouin  back  and  again  his 
hand  was  put  in  mine,  and  the  yearling  was 
bought.  And  now  for  the  first  time  I  thought 
we  were  to  make  an  offer  for  the  mare,  but 

[172] 


-l-J 

-o 

•1— » 

a 

^ 

3 

o 

>^ 

u. 

Si 

to 

<v 

<X) 

N 

^ 

O 

o 

a 

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a> 

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43 

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a 

„ 

o 

0^ 

t< 

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03 

M 

a 

a 

A 

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a 

o 

u 

^^ 

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ffi 

MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

Haffez,  it  seemed,  had  tried  to  drive  a  bar- 
gain for  both  the  mare  and  colt,  and  had  failed. 
The  colt  was  taken  to  his  brother  and  tied  to 
the  hind  leg.  He  stood  like  a  little  man  and 
his  brother  was  glad  to  see  him.  The  mare's 
only  other  colt  had  been  bought  the  year  before 
by  the  German  government  for  two  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds.  Thus  she  was  a  source  of 
revenue  which  they  did  not  want  to  lose. 

Before  her  owner  mounted  the  beautiful 
mother  to  ride  away,  I  approached  her,  and, 
true  to  the  Bedouin  custom,  she  refused  to  let 
me  come  near.  She  bit  at  me  and  pretended 
to  kick,  and  all  this  while  ragged  Bedouins  were 
patting  her,  and  patting  her;  but  me  she 
watched  like  a  hawk. 

All  our  attempts  to  buy  her  proved  unavail- 
ing. He  put  us  off  by  saying  that  he  would 
have  to  consult  his  family.  He  promised 
faithfully  to  come  to  us  again  the  next  night, 
but  he  did  not  and  so  the  story  of  the  event- 
ual purchase  of  the  mare  is  the  more  remark- 
able and  must  be  put  down  in  its  proper  place. 


[174] 


CHAPTER  XIV 

ANOTHER     PRESENT — HASSAN     TASSHIN     PASHA 

AND  HIS  HORSES. 

The  route  of  the  next  day's  journey  took  us 
more  to  the  south,  and  as  we  passed  an  en- 
campment of  the  Sebaa  Anezeh,  a  brown  mare, 
with  a  filly  colt  not  more  than  fifteen  days  old 
at  her  side,  was  shown  to  us.  Haffez  was  es- 
pecially anxious  that  I  should  see  this  filly,  as 
it  was  sired  by  the  horse  I  was  riding  (the 
Maneghi  Sbeyel),  and  was  his  double  over 
again,  without  a  white  hair  and  with  the  same 
pecuhar  head.  She  was  a  dainty  little  thing 
as  she  played  round  her  mother,  but  I  was 
afraid  she  could  not  stand  the  long  ride  to 
Alexandretta.  Haffez,  however,  thought  oth- 
erwise, so  I  finally  bought  the  mare  and 
filly.  They  were  of  the  family  of  Hadban 
Enzekhi,  the  first  we  had  seen  in  the  desert, 
and  I  was  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  buy  them 
as  it  completed  the  purchase  of  representatives 

[175] 


OS 

o< 
u 

o 

» 


m 


a> 
>> 


m 

<a 

^  tl 

*^    (K 

:i 

O    CO 

I"" 

cS 
OS 

So 


U 

+-> 

o 

u 


0) 

P. 


ANOTHER  PRESENT 

/ 

of  all  of  the  members  of  the  Khamseh,  or  five 
great  families.  The  mother  was  a  most  showy 
animal,  with  remarkable  shoulders  and  hips, 
and  the  most  graceful  neck  and  tail  carriage. 
As  the  Bedouin  owner  galloped  her  here  and 
there  over  the  rocks  to  show  her  off,  she  was  a 
beautiful  sight.  It  seemed  the  Bedouin 
wanted  to  sell  the  mother  and  not  the  filly 
colt,  but  Haffez  knew  what  he  was  after,  and 
bought  the  two  at  what  he  considered  was  a 
price  for  the  mare  alone.  Her  former  owner 
followed  us  to  Aleppo  and  then  offered  us  six- 
ty-five pounds  Turkish  for  the  colt,  which  was 
then  twenty  days  old.     But  I  kept  it. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  the  owner  of  the 
distinguished  mare  we  wished  so  much  to  pur- 
chase had  said  he  would  join  us  that  night,  and 
all  night  the  lonesome  colt  had  been  calling  for 
his  mother.  He  clung  to  his  brother,  but 
would  call  to  every  passing  horse  or  camel. 
When  we  moved  towards  Aleppo,  however,  he 
strode  alongside  of  his  brother,  and  had  for- 
gotten all  about  his  mother  before  we  stopped 
for  the  night.  All  night  we  waited  for  the 
Bedouin  and  mare,  but  they  did  not  come. 
The  next  day  a  courier  came  with  a  message 
that  we  might  have  her  for  fifty  pounds  more 

[  177  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

than  we  had  offered,  and  though  it  seemed  use- 
less, we  sent  a  messenger,  and  a  soldier,  with 
the  money  to  bring  her  to  Aleppo. 

On  our  return  to  Aleppo  we  were  the  sub- 
jects of  great  curiosity.  All  of  the  distin- 
guished Arabs  and  Turks  came  to  see  our 
horses,  and  they  were  much  admired. 

The  Governor's  son,  Hickmet  Bey,  had  been 
presented  by  the  Gomussa  tribe  with  another 
Maneghi  Sbeyel,  to  take  the  place  of  the  one 
which  they  had  given  to  me.     We  went  to  see 
him.     He  was  two  years  old,  unshod,  and  stood 
a  fraction  over  fifteen  hands  high.     He  was 
the  most  powerfully  made  horse,  I  think,  it 
has  ever  been  my  pleasure  to  see.     His  re- 
markable hips   and   shoulders   were   a   sight. 
There  was  not  a  flaw  in  him.     The  Bedouins, 
when  they  came  near  him,  all  bowed.     They 
thought  he  was  a  special  creation  of  God,  be- 
cause he  had  three  black  feet,  the  only  white 
being  on  the  left  fore  foot,  which  is  a  special 
mark  of  Allah.     He  had  a  small  star  on  the 
forehead,  the  strip  growing  wider  as  it  came 
to  the  nose,   so   that   it   took   in   one   nostril 
which  was  completely  white.     The  white  ran 
to  the  under-lip,  and  this  was  tattooed  in  blue 
in  imitation  of  the  women  of  the  desert.     One 

[178] 


O     rt     r- 

m  o 

.«  ^  t^ 

>>         0) 

r--     ^    +-> 

O    ^    !-i 
M  '+-1 

S  ,^  2 

1— '    C     CO 

.„         O 

P  g        bti 

'«  o  c^r 


w 

c 


m 


^^ 


3 
o 


^  ^.t: 


(b 


0.'  ^- 
5    S    M 


M 


bC 


C3   oj 
O    t^ 


^    O 

o  c 


03  O 

CO  M 

OJ  bX) 

bC  G 


g  5 


^  CO 

T-l    esq 

-^    H 
CJ    O 

O   o 

oo 

o;  ^ 

-^ 
o 

0 

o 


M 


C    C3 
OS  2 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

of  his  eye-balls  was  white.  In  this  country  such 
a  thing  would  be  disliked  in  a  horse,  but  in  the 
desert  it  is  commonly  found. 

Every  time  I  looked  at  Akmet  Haffez  he 
closed  his  fist  and  held  it  up  to  his  head,  to 
show  what  a  remarkable  colt  this  was.  To 
cap  the  climax  the  Governor's  son  told  me  that 
as  he  had  not  yet  made  me  a  present  he  would 
give  me  this  colt.  With  all  the  thanks  that 
I  could  scrape  uj)  I  took  him,  and  he  was  hur- 
riedly led  away  to  join  the  rest  of  the  horses 
which  were  picketed  at  the  Maidan,  just  out  of 
Aleppo. 

While  at  the  Governor's  we  met  Hassan 
Tasshin  Pasha,  the  wealthiest  citizen  in  Alep- 
po, though  an  exile.  The  Pasha  was  one  of 
the  most  distinguished-looking  men  I  had  ever 
seen.  He  was  as  cheerful  as  an  exile  could 
be,  and  lived  in  the  best  house  in  Aleppo.  In- 
stead of  pining  over  his  fate  he  had  taken  to 
breeding  Arab  horses,  and  he  was  a  stickler  for 
fine  blood  and  an  expert  with  pedigrees.  He 
believed  that  there  were  very  few  Seglawi  Jed- 
rans  left  in  the  north  of  the  desert,  and  that  the 
Hamdani  Simri  were  confined  almost  to  the 
Shammar.  We  eagerly  accepted  an  opportu- 
nity to  see  his  horses. 

[180] 


Hassan  Tahssin  Pasha,  exiled  in  Aleppo.  This  distinguished 
general  was  one  of  the  highest  men  under  the  old  Sultan  of 
Turkey.  His  popularity  with  the  people  throughout  Turkey, 
notwithstanding  that  he  was  one  of  the  richest  men  in  the 
Empire,  alarmed  the  Sultan  until  through  fear  of  the  Pasha's 
popularity  he  trapped  him  into  exile  by  asking  him  to  go  to 
Aleppo  to  be  the  governor  of  Syria.  On  his  arrival  when  the 
troops  met  him  as  he  thought  as  an  ovation,  he  was  informed 
that  instead  he  was  an  exile  for  .life.  Whether  the  new  Turk 
movement  releases  this  man  with  many  other  notable  men 
from  exile  life  at  this  writing  I  am  unable  to  tell.  I  naturally 
suppose  it  does,   however. 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

The  first  mare  that  was  led  into  view  was  a 
flea-bitten,  tall  and  well-made  gray  mare, 
standing  more  than  fifteen  hands  high.  She 
was  a  Kehileh  Heife,  a  breed  much  prized,  as 
we  had  found  out  from  the  Anezeh,  and  play- 
ing at  her  side  was  a  baby  horse  colt,  foaled 
in  June  of  that  year.  The  colt  was  fat  and 
husky  and  was  chasing  dogs.  At  a  distance  he 
looked  like  a  Clydesdale,  without  the  hair  on 
his  legs,  and  much  resembled  Reysdack's 
"Hamiltonian." 

The  Pasha  was  pleased  at  our  admiration  of 
his  horses,  especially  as  he  had  been  apologiz- 
ing for  them.  Indeed  they  were  as  fine  as  any- 
thing we  had  seen  in  the  desert,  especially  a 
three-year-old  Kehilan  Heife  stallion,  stand- 
ing fifteen  hands,  without  a  white  hair  on  him 
a  dark  gray  Dahman  Shahwan,  two  years  old 
a  three-year-old  chestnut  stallion,  a  Seglawi 
Jedran,  brought  specially  for  the  Pasha  from 
Nejd,  and  a  chestnut  filly  two-year-old  Kahileh 
Heife,  daughter  of  the  flea-bitten  gray  mare. 

We  saw  Akmet  Haffez  in  conversation  with 
the  Pasha,  and  soon  the  latter  began  to  talk 
with  much  emphasis.  It  seemed  that  Haffez 
was  trying  to  compel  the  Pasha  to  sell  us  the 
three-year-old  bay  stallion  and  that  the  Pasha 

[  182  ] 


ANOTHER  PRESENT 

had  felt  embarrassed  at  being  considered  a 
horse-dealer.  But  Haffez  insisted  and  finally 
prevailed. 

The  next  morning  we  went  again  to  see  the 
Pasha's  horses,  and  immediately  he  and  Haffez 
were  at  it  again.  Haffez's  price  bothered  our 
host,  and  the  latter  made  the  declaration  that 
he  would  not  sell  them  at  any  price,  but  if  I 
wanted  to  accept  them  as  gifts  I  could.  I  was 
afraid  Haffez  would  destroy  our  friendship 
with  the  Pasha,  but  he  seemed  to  know  what 
he  was  about  and  finally  compelled  the  sale  of 
the  three  horses  at  prices  which  he  thought  were 
honest.  So,  amid  much  excitement,  the  gray 
mare  and  her  colt,  and  the  three-year-old,  were 
picketed  with  our  lot. 

And  we  parted  the  best  of  friends.  The 
next  day  he  called  on  us  at  the  hotel  with  the 
Governor.  This  in  itself  was  an  unusual  pro- 
ceeding and  the  proprietor  of  the  hotel  was 
much  excited  over  it.  It  was  with  much  re- 
gret that  we  said  good-bye,  and  as  they  drove 
away  in  a  carriage  drawn  by  two  gray  Arabian 
stallions,  we  felt  very  proud  to  think  of  having 
such  friends  in  even  such  an  out-of-the-way 
place. 

[1831 


CHAPTER  XV 

WE  SAY  FAREWELL  TO  AKMET  HAFFEZ  AND 
START  FOR  THE  COAST — "tHE  PRIDE  OF  THE 
EUPHRATES"  COMES  TO  US  AT  LAST  AND  MEETS 
HER  TWO  SONS. 

That  night  brought  the  beginning  of  our 
f arewejl  to  the  desert,  for  we  were  to  part  with 
Akmet  Haffez  and  for  the  last  time  to  break 
bread  under  his  hospitable  roof.  Crowds  had 
gathered  around  his  house.  Strange  Bedouins 
whom  we  had  never  seen,  were  there  to  say 
good-bye  in  their  solemn  cordial  way,  but  the 
old  man  was  all  smiles  (for  us),  as  he  per- 
sonally superintended  the  spreading  of  the 
bounteous  feast. 

And  so  we  too  feigned  light-heartedness,  in 
spite  of  an  undertone  of  sadness.  We  would 
eat  his  food — and  then  leave  a  friend,  one  of 
the  best  we  had  ever  met.  Few  men  in  any 
country  would  have  gone  out  of  their  way 
so  far  as  to  have  done  for  us  what  this  diplo- 

[  184  ] 


WE  START  FOR  THE  COAST 

matic,  far-seeing  old  Bedouin  had  done.  The 
Governor  of  Aleppo  had  told  us  that  Haffez 
was  looked  upon  as  the  smartest  and  shrewdest 
Bedouin  that  the  Ottoman  Empire  had  ever 
known.  But  we  knew  more  of  him.  With  his 
jocular  humor  and  sarcasm  and  his  true  gen- 


Study    of    Muson — still,    listening. 

tlemanly  manners,  he  made  us  feel  as  if  we 
were  leaving  home  and  going  abroad  to  some 
strange  land. 

At  this  final  meeting  he  was  just  what  he 
had  ever  been.  His  speech  was  always  full  of 
flamboyant  oriental  exaggeration,  but  it  was 
different  from  that  of  his  kind — you  knew  that 
he  meant  what  he  said.  The  Arabs  have  a 
word  "Halamy,"  which  being  much  of  a  slang 
term,  can  best  be  transferred  into  English  (or 
rather  American)  as  "hot  air."  The  Arab 
showers  on  you  all  sorts  of  fine  phrases  and 

[185] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

you  accept  them  with  a  grin  and  say  to  your- 
self "Halamy,"  and  letting  it  go  at  that,  im- 
mediately forget  it. 

But  with  Akmet  Haffez  it  was  different. 
After  you  had  once  gained  his  friendship  you 
knew  that  what  he  said  was  never  "Halamv." 
At  that  last  feast  (shall  we  ever  forget  it?)  we 
sat  for  a  long  time  and,  as  we  ate,  joked  of  the 
trials  we  had  had  in  the  desert,  laughed  at 
the  thought  of  getting  a  real  Turkish  bath 
when  we  reached  the  coast,  and  wondered 
whether  we  could  stand  the  sensation.  Then 
as  the  end  drew  near  our  mood  changed,  and 
Akmet  Haffez  began  what  in  any  other 
Bedouin  would  have  been  "Halamy." 

He  gave  thanks  to  Allah  that  we  had  come  to 
him  and  that  he  had  been  spared  to  see  us. 
Our  going,  he  declared,  was  the  great  sorrow 
of  his  life,  but  he  had  this  one  great  consola- 
tion: We  had  learned  to  eat  rice  with  our 
hands  with  the  Anezeh  and  we  ought  to  stay 
and  be  real  Bedouins.  By  the  brightness  of 
our  eyes  (so  he  said  with  a  kindly  twinkling  of 
his  own)  we  had  won  the  tribes,  and  their 
friendship  would  always  be  ours.  So  almost  in 
silence  we  finished  the  meal,  and  went  to  the 
street  below  to  say  good-bye.     Rare  and  beau- 

[  186  ] 


WE  START  FOR  THE  COAST 

tiful  presents  had  been  bestowed  on  us,  and  dis- 
tinguished people  came  and  were  presented, 
and  when  we  walked  down  to  the  carriage  there 
was  a  procession. 

As  I  turned  to  say  good-bye,  I  thought 
I  saw  in  his  motions  that  Akmet  Haffez 
wanted  more  than  a  hand-shaking.  So  though 
awkwardly,  I  admit,  I  presented  both  cheeks 
and  was  seized  in  fond  embrace  by  the  old 
Bedouin,  who  broke  down  and  began  to  sob 
almost  aloud.  He  called  to  the  interpreter  to 
come  closer,  and  taking  him  by  one  arm  asked 
him  to  tell  me  that  now  indeed  he  had  a  brother 
in  America,  and  that  if  I  did  not  return  soon 
he  would  in  a  few  years  come  to  make  me  a 
visit,  to  see  if  I  had  preserved  the  blood  that  I 
was  taking  away  in  his  horses.  Turning  then 
to  Moore  and  Thompson,  the  old  gentleman 
with  dignity,  though  weeping,  bade  them  good- 
bye, while  crowds  of  Bedouins  stood  close  to 
the  carriage.  His  stalwart  son.  Ah,  also  came 
and  then  we  were  driven  away  to  the 
INIaidan  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  where,  on 
a  grass  plot,  our  horses  and  mares  were  picket- 
ed ready  for  the  march. 

Yet  we  were  loth  to  start,  and  there  was  an- 
other reason  for  this  beside  our  unwillingness 

[  187  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

to  part  from  Akmet  Haffez.  The  Seglawieh 
Jedranieh  mare,  whose  two  sons  we  had  bought 
and  to  comjDlete  whose  purchase  we  had  sent  by 
a  soldier  the  fifty  pounds  extra  demanded  by 
her  owner,  had  not  appeared.  All  through  the 
dinner  Akmet  Haffez  had  been  noticeably  con- 
cerned  over  his  non-appearance.  At  first  he 
smiled  and  said  that  the  heat  might  have  de- 
layed his  coming,  or  that  some  accident  might 
have  happened.  But  as  the  time  went  on  he 
became  more  serious.  We  were  compelled  to 
leave  that  night  in  order  to  catch  the  steamer  at 
Alexandretta  four  davs  later  and  we  had  our 
large  string  of  horses  to  convey  106  miles. 

As  the  servants  were  serving  coffee  the  sol- 
dier came  in  out  of  breath  and  he  had  not 
said  many  words  before  Akmet  Haffez's  eyes 
blazed  with  anger  and  he  arose  and  picked  up 
a  rifle  from  the  couch.  What  was  the  trouble? 
This  simply:  The  mare's  owner  had  counted 
out  the  fifty  pounds  brought  by  the  soldier  and 
then  had  demanded  further  a  revolver  he  had 
seen  one  of  our  party  carrying. 

That  was  what  had  roused  our  host.  He 
had  given  his  word  before  Allah  that  we  should 
have  the  mare  and  he  would  keep  his  word  if  it 
took  rifles  to  help  him  do  it, 

[188] 


WE  START  FOR  THE  COAST 

And  the  old  man  had  his  way.  "I  will  send 
to  get  the  mare,"  said  he.  "My  own  son  Faiot, 
who  is  also  your  son,  shall  go  and  he  shall  bring 
her  back  alive  or  her  owner  dead."  I  yielded, 
not  without  hesitation,  for  I  wanted  the  ani- 
mal, as  she  was  the  best  in  the  Euphrates  val- 
ley, and,  anyway,  to  ease  my  conscience  I  sent 
along  the  revolver  which  her  owner  had  de- 
manded. Faiot  and  the  soldier  started  at  once 
on  their  fifteen  hours'  ride  as  we  broke  camp  in 
the  opposite  direction.  They  would  try  to 
catch  us  on  the  second  night. 

It  was  nearly  two  o'clock  before  we  were 
ready  to  march.  The  young  stallions  had 
rested  from  their  trip  from  the  desert.  The 
barley  and  the  regular  feed  which  they  were 
getting  was  beginning  to  tell  on  their  condi- 
tion and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  the  man  led 
some  of  the  two-year-olds,  so  frisky  were  they 
and  so  full  of  play. 

We  rode  all  night  and  until  the  sun  was  hot 
and  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  stopped  at 
Kafar-al-Teen,  the  spot  named  after  the 
famous  bandit  of  that  name.  All-night  travel 
is  not  best  for  man  or  beast.  The  horses  were 
tired  and  sleepy  and,  worse  still,  Moore  was 
sick  and  not  improving.     The  heat  of  the  day 

[189] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

affected  us  more  than  if  we  had  not  been  travel- 
ing" the  previous  night,  so  I  planned  a  new  pro- 
gramme. We  would  start  that  evening  at  six 
and  ride  three  hours,  then  rest  during  the  com- 
paratively cool  night  so  that  the  little  colts 
might  sleep. 

The  men  of  the  caravan  objected  to  this  and 
threatened  to  leave  us,  but  I  insisted,  and  so, 
backed  up  by  Thompson  and  Moore  (even 
though  the  latter  was  sick,  he  looked  to  them 
big  enough  to  lick  a  dozen  Arabs),  they 
stayed.  That  plan  saved  us.  We  camped  at 
nine-thirty  and  at  ten  the  young  horses  were  all 
asleep,  and  when  we  started  at  three  in  the 
morning,  some  of  the  two-year-olds  were  hard 
to  hold.  We  rode  from  three  to  seven,  and 
then  stopped  until  evening. 

At  sundown  Moore  was  getting  steadily 
worse.  I  was  watching  the  pious  Bedouins 
performing  their  evening  devotions  with  their 
faces  towards  the  east  when  I  turned  to  look 
at  the  sunset.  It  occurred  to  me,  seeing 
Moore's  condition,  that  the  west  was  the  place 
for  us  to  pray  towards  and  said  so  to  Moore. 
He  was  so  sick  he  could  hardly  hold  up  his 
head,  but  he  managed  to  lift  himself  a  little 
and  said  that  if  we  could  manage  to  hurry  him 

[  190  ] 


d 
o 

M 


a 
o 


a 
o 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

toward  the  west,  a  little  nearer  Broadway,  he 
would  feel  better.  And  we  tried.  We  got 
him  on  his  horse  somehow  and  started  on  again. 

One  of  the  horses,  a  golden  bay  from  the 
private  stables  of  Hassan  Pasha,  was  sick,  too, 
but  that  was  nothing.  A  local  veterinary  in- 
deed offered  to  cure  both  Moore  and  the  horse 
with  one  prescription,  which  he  declared  was  in- 
fallible. He  said  that  if  the  sick  man  should 
lead  the  sick  horse  past  the  graveyard  both 
would  immediately  recover.  He  guaranteed 
the  cure  before  Allah.  We  declined  with 
thanks.     Besides,  there  wasn't  any  graveyard. 

It  was  now  the  third  night  out  from  Aleppo 
and  there  was  no  news  from  the  mare.  Sud- 
denly about  nine  in  the  evening  there  was  a 
cry  of  "Faiot,"  and  the  son  of  Akmet  Haffez 
came  galloping  up  on  "The  Pride  of  the  Eu- 
phrates." She  was  the  same  beautiful  ani- 
mal despite  her  journey.  Her  eyes  had 
the  same  sparkle  and  she  looked  better  than 
when  we  first  saw  her.  Some  of  the  grooms 
were  watering  the  horses  at  a  nearby 
stream,  and  her  colts  were  away  from  the  camp 
ground  at  the  creek.  But  while  she  was  still 
resenting  our  approach,  the  chestnut  orphan 
colt  came  in  on  the  run.     He  was  all  excite- 

[192] 


WE  START  FOR  THE  COAST 

ment;  his  eyes  glistened  and  his  ears  nearly 
touched  each  other  at  the  points  as  he  ran  from 
one  horse  to  the  other.     His  excitement  was 
so  great  that  we  shall    never    forget    it.     It 
seemed  as  if  such  an  unexpected  meeting  had 
never  taken  place  before.     Those    who    may 
think  that  dumb  animals  have  no  way  of  ex- 
pressing their  feelings,  should  have  been  pres- 
ent at  this  twilight  celebration.     The  colt  fair- 
ly kissed  his  mother   and   his    joy   knew    no 
bounds.     He  tried  to  be  her  baby  again  and 
suck,  forgetting  that  he  had  long  been  weaned. 
He  kicked  up  his  heels  and  cantered  about, 
stopping  to  lick  her  all  over.     Then,  with    a 
squeal,  he  started,  with  his  little  tail  high  up, 
to  run  and  run  round  her.     He  almost  stam- 
peded some  camels  with  his  antics.     He  ran 
so  close  to  the  other  horses  we  were  afraid  he 
would  trip  on  their  hobbles.     He  forgot  he  was 
tired    and   leg-weary,    forgot    his    baby    feet 
had  no  shoes.     Fifty  Arabs  and  grooms,  and 
we  three,  were  half  laughing  and  crying  to- 
gether to  see  the  boy  celebrate  his  joy.     All 
this  time  his  mother  acted  bashfully  as  if  she 
were  saying:  "Don't  mind  him;  he's  just  my 
boy."     The  grooms  tried,  when  he  was  tired 
out,  to  fasten  him  near  his  brother,  but  no  hob- 

[193] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

bles  would  have  held  him.  He  wanted  to  sleep 
by  his  mother.  He  was  not  content  mitil  he 
could. 

The  interpreter  then  had  a  story  to  tell. 
While  the  colt  was  celebrating  the  reunion,  his 
once  owner  was  not  so  happy  in  Aleppo. 
When  the  son  of  Haffez  went  to  him  with  the 
revolver  the  owner  found  fault  with  the 
wea23on,  saying  it  was  not  the  one  he  wanted. 
He  was  so  sore  that  before  he  would  give  up 
the  mare  he  declared  he  would  leave  the 
Anezeh  tribe  and  go  to  Brihem  Pasha,  who,  to 
get  the  blood  of  his  mare  in  his  tribe,  would  de- 
fend him  with  his  six  thousand  armed  men. 
Whereupon  the  soldiers  covered  him  with  the 
very  pistol  he  had  sent  for,  while  Haffez's  son, 
Faiot,  took  the  mare  by  force.  Later  he  was  ar- 
rested and  brought  to  Aleppo  because  he  had 
broken  his  word  about  a  horse  which  he  really 
did  not  want  to  sell.  But  if  we  had  achieved  one 
horse  we  wanted  we  had  lost  another.  The 
golden  bay  had  died  while  the  celebration  of 
the  colt  was  going  on,  and  before  the  last  tent 
wagon  left  the  spot  the  jackals  were  barking 
on  the  mountains  nearby. 

The  next  day  at  Alexandretta,  the  Arabs 
from  the  mountains  knew  all  about  the  bay 

[  194  ] 


BRIHEM      PASHA 

This  rather  remarkable  photograph,  remarkable  owing  to 
the  history  surrounding  it,  was  taken  in  Urfah  by  an  English 
traveler.  The  Pasha  at  that  time  was  the  Governor  of  that 
Province,  but  on  being  recalled  by  the  Sultan,  he  and  his 
soldiers  turned  outlaws  and  fled  to  the  Desert  with  their  arms 
and  ammunition  with  the  hope  at  the  death  of  the  Sultan  to  be 
able  to  defeat  the  Anezeh.  On  hearing  that  this  photograph 
had  been  taken  of  him — the  only  one  ever  taken  of  him—the 
Pasha  sent  an  officer  to  kill  the  possessor  of  the  picture  and 
destroy  it.  The  man  was  killed  and  the  photograph  torn  in  two 
and  thrown  in  the  street,  the  officer  fleeing  to  the  Desert  to 
avoid  arrest.  The  reproduction  here  shows  where  it  was  torn 
and  mended.  Brihem  Pasha  did  ndt  live  to  fulfill  his  prophe- 
cies, as  he  was  assassinated  a  little  ovci:  a  year  ago  by  agents 
of  the  Anezeh, 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

mare,  though  we  had  not  told  the  story  to  a 
soul.  They  came  to  see  her  in  great  numbers, 
and  were  sorry  she  had  been  taken  away  from 
her  owner. 

That  night  two  New  Yorkers  sat  beside  her 
and  played  pinochle  till  daylight,  and  when  she 
was  safe  on  board  the  steamer,  I  felt  the  relief 
that  only  her  presence  on  the  steamship  could 
bring. 


[196] 


CHAPTER  XVI 

WHAT  ONE  MAY  OVERLOOK  IN  THE  SHIPMENT 
OF  HORSES — WE  LEAVE  THE  OTTOMAN  EMPIRE 
AND  ENTER  ESSENTIAL  PART  OF  IT  AT  LEAST, 
ALTHOUGH  SURROUNDED  BY  SPIES. 

How  that  pinochle  game  came  out  I  do  not 
remember.  Maybe  I  won,  but  whether  I  did 
or  not,  my  mind  was  more  set  on  evincing  the 
game  of  horse— that  is  of  getting  my  purchases 
safely  out  of  the  country. 

When  you're  at  home  sitting  on  the  shady 
side  of  your  porch  and  planning  the  exporta- 
tion of  Arab  horses,  there  are  some  details 
which  you  overlook  while  seated  in  a  comfort- 
able rocking  chair.  Generally,  when  you  are 
reading  of  the  exportations  which  have  been 
made  into  England,  you  read  something  like 

this : 

"We  brought  from  Damascus,  or  Aleppo,  a 
bay  mare."  Then  follows  a  description  of  how 
this  particular  mare  enjoyed  the  grass  in  the 

[197] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

paddocks  in  England.  So  I  had  been  care- 
less and  even  ignorant  of  some  of  the  things  I 
afterward  learned  must  have  happened  be- 
tween the  time  that  horse  was  purchased  in  the 
desert  and  when  you  again  hear  of  it  in  the 
English  paddocks. 

Before  getting  to  Alexandretta,  I  had  or- 
dered, by  wire,  from  Mr.  Jackson,  the  Amer- 
ican Consul  there,  lumber  to  build  stalls  on  the 
boat ;  and  had  given  little  thought  as  to  how  the 
horses  were  to  be  loaded  on  the  ship.  Until 
I  reached  that  part  I  had  no  idea  how  diffi- 
cult that  would  be.  If  Mr.  Jackson  had  not 
gone  ahead  with  the  work,  and  had  not  had 
boxes  constructed  for  me,  I  could  not  have 
shipped  my  lot  of  horses  for  at  least  two 
weeks.  He  had  made  contracts  at  the  lowest 
bids  and  every  carpenter  in  the  town,  who  was 
well  enough  to  work,  was  working  day  and 
night  on  the  boxes.  Mr.  Jackson  was  con- 
stantly after  the  carpenters  and  the  work  was 
done  on  time. 

If  you  have  never  put  twenty-seven  stallions 
and  mares  into  the  first  boxes,  or  stalls,  they 
have  ever  seen,  then  there's  something  in  life 
which  you  have  yet  to  experience.  The  day  on 
which  the  embarkation  began  was  very  hot. 

[198  1 


THE  SHIPMENT  OF  HORSES 

The  poisonous  mosquitoes  were  dipping  under 
your  hat-brim  like  bees.  On  the  dock  you  were 
conscious  that  there  was  a  spy,  who  was  there 
smihng  at  you  and  to  you  and  anxious  to  hold 
his  umbrella  over  your  head.  You  allowed 
him  to  do  this,  but  at  the  same  time  you  knew 
that  he  was  watching  to  see  if  he  could  not  find 
some  way  to  stop  you  legally.  You  also  knew 
that  in  the  little  town,  possibly  between  the 
wharf  and  the  place  where  your  horses  were 
tied  by  the  legs,  were  men  who  would  like  to 
steal  some  of  the  .choicest  ones,  especially  the 
Seglawieh  Jedranieh  mare,  or  the  Maneghi 
Sbeyel  stallion.  If  those  men  once  got  on  the 
back  of  any  of  these  horses  nothing  could  catch 
them.  It  would  be  a  short  run  of  an  hour  into 
the  mountains  and  then — the  desert,  where 
everything  is  lost.  A  fortune  you  knew  was 
waiting  for  the  man  who  could  get  away  with 
the  brown  stallion. 

These  trifling  details  had  never  been  in  my 
mind  when  I  was  at  home  rocking  in  the  shade, 
desert-dreaming,  but  they  were  forced  on  me 
now  with  other  little  things.  Nevertheless  the 
shady  porch  in  Morris  Plains  at  the  other  end 
of  the  journey  was  on  my  mind  as  well  as  the 
thought  that  I  was  determined  to  win  out. 

[  199  J 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

At  the  last  minute,  though  the  good  health  of 
the  horses  had  been  testified  to  by  a  veterinary, 
other  veterinaries  stood  waiting  to  be  tipped 
and  bribed,  lest  they  should  get  into  trouble 
with  the  Turkish  spy,  who  was  anxious  to  have 
his  name  go  before  the  Sultan.  All  this  time 
the  heat  was  getting  more  intense. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  and  we'd  been  up  since  be- 
fore daylight  trying  to  hurry  things  along. 
Barley  was  being  shipped  aboard,  seven  thou- 
sand pounds  of  it,  as  well  as  hay,  or  stuff  which 
they  call  hay.  The  first  horses  were  being 
brought  to  the  boat,  and  to  try  and  get  some 
relief  from  an  upset  mind,  I  asked  them  as  a 
favor  to  bring  the  Maneghi  Sbeyel  stallion 
along  first.  He  had  never  seen  a  box-stall 
and  had  never  been  asked  to  walk  into  one 
before,  but  I  thought  that  with  his  broad  fore- 
head he  would  know  more  than  some  of  the 
other  colts.  The  Maneghi  approached  the 
box.  With  five  hundred  curious  town  Arabs 
looking  on,  he  stopped  for  a  moment  to  gaze 
at  it,  and  then  at  the  first  asking  he  walked 
in  with  a  majestic  swing  that  characterized  all 
his  motions.  The  door  was  closed  behind  him 
and  fastened  by  an  iron  bar. 

It  was  I,  I  think,  who  suggested  that  a 

[200] 


THE  SHIPMENT  OF  HORSES 

bandage  be  tied  over  his  eyes  before  they  low- 
ered him  into  the  hghter,  but  when  we  covered 
his  big  black  eyes  he  began  to  get  nervous,  and 
at  the  first  move  of  the  box  he  nearly  got  out 
of  it.  When  he  made  one  real  effort,  the  box 
that  had  looked  so  stout,  bound  as  it  was  with 
iron,  seemed  as  frail  as  a  chicken  coop,  and 
w^e  wondered  if  it  would  ever  hold  together  till 
w^e  got  to  the  steamer.  Faiot,  Akmet  Haff  ez's 
son,  had  come  with  us  and  he  knew  the  stallion 
better  than  we  did.  He  saw  what  the  trouble 
was  and  tore  the  bandage  from  the  horse's 
eyes.  Then  the  IManeghi  peered  out  of  the  box 
and  into  the  water  and  immediately  grew 
quieter. 

The  horse  never  moved  after  his  bandages 
were  taken  off.  He  was  calmer  by  50  per  cent, 
than  I  was  during  the  whole  operation.  The 
next  they  brought  w^as  the  chestnut  two-year- 
old  Deyr  colt.  He  had  been  so  playful  when 
w^e  bought  him  that  there  were  a  double  set  of 
hobbles  on  his  legs  and  even  with  them  he 
cavorted  round.  But  like  the  Maneghi  Sbeyel 
he  walked  into  the  box,  and  without  a  bandage 
over  his  eyes  he  was  perfectly  quiet,  looking 
over  the  landscape  as  they  swung  him  up  into 
the  air,  and  down  into  the  small  boat,  without 

[201] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

even  a  move.  In  the  meantime  another  diffi- 
culty had  arisen.  While  these  stallions  were 
gentle  and  kind,  still  they  would  fight  if  they 
could  put  their  noses  together,  so  I  asked  some 
of  the  Arab  grooms  we  had  brought  with  us 
to  hold  each  one  by  the  head.  Then,  an  un- 
derling of  the  spy,  whom  we  suspected,  object- 
ed. He  told  our  interpreter  that  no  man 
would  be  allowed  to  go  with  us  to  the  boat  for 
fear  they  might  leave  the  country.  We  tried 
to  explain.  We  told  him  that  if  the  stallions 
were  left  free  to  nip  at  each  other's  noses,  the 
soft  wooden  boxes  would  be  smashed  to  splint- 
ers. But  there  is  no  reasoning  with  spies. 
We  had  to  appeal  to  Mr.  Jackson  and  he  final- 
ly gave  his  word  that  each  man  who  went  to 
the  boat  would  be  returned,  and  finally  it  was 
settled  that  way. 

Among  these  grooms  was  Said  Abdullah, 
whose  name  translated  means  "The  Happy 
Servant  of  God."  This  cheerful  person  (for 
he  was  nearly  always  on  a  broad  grin)  had 
been  the  slave  of  Akmet  Haff  ez,  and  when  the 
latter  had  given  the  Seglawieh  mare  to  me,  he 
announced  casually  that  Said  went  with  her. 
Of  course,  that  was  something  of  a  poser.  I 
tried  to  explain  to  Haffez  that   in   America 

[202] 


THE  SHIPMENT  OF  HORSES 

slaves  did  not  exist,  but  I  am  afraid  my  ex- 
planation was  not  very  clear.  At  any  rate  he 
insisted  that  as  the  boy  had  been  brought  up 
with  the  mare,  or  at  any  rate  with  her  sons  and 
daughters,  he  should  go  with  her  wherever  she 
went.  The  mare  was  going  with  me,  said 
Akmet  Haffez;  so  was  Said.  The  logic 
seemed  perfectly  clear  to  his  mind.  He  dis- 
missed the  subject  at  once  and  considered  the 
incident  closed.  As  his  guest  I  could  do  no 
more  than  follow  suit  and  Said  as  a  faithful 
servant  (both  of  us  had  forgotten  the  word 
slave)  has  followed  the  fortune  of  Wadduda 
ever  since. 

We  worked  hard  all  day  getting  the  horses 
aboard  and  it  was  nearly  dusk  when  the  last 
lighter  came  alongside  with  Consul  Jackson. 
We  compelled  all  the  grooms,  four  of  whom 
I  had  intended  to  take  to  America,  to  return 
to  the  shore,  to  be  checked  off.  I  went  ashore 
with  them  to  sign  a  few  papers  of  release,  and 
incidentally  pay  a  few  more  bills.  Following 
us  at  every  step  we  took  were  the  agents  of 
the  spy,  and  when  we  were  having  our  last 
meal  in  MacAndrews  &  Forbes's  house,  they 
paraded  round  the  doorstep. 

It  appears  that,  by  some  accident  on  the  part 

[203] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

of  the  customs  official  who  was  checking  off 
the  horses  as  they  were  taken  aboard  the  lighter 
at  the  dock,  Said,  my  boy,  had  been  checked  off 
as  coming  back,  and  it  had  not  been  noticed 
that  he  had  gone  out  to  the  lighter  with  an- 
other bunch  of  horses.  He  had  crawled  in 
under  the  bales  of  hay,  and  to  anyone  on 
shore  he  might  have  been  taken  for  a  monkey 
scaling  up  a  rope  which  hung  down  the  side  of 
the  big  boat  as  he  scrambled  aboard.  He  was 
there,  but  I  was  not  supposed  to  know  it.  All 
I  was  certain  of  was  that  he  was  on  the  boat. 
After  supper,  with  the  sea  beginning  to  get 
rough  and  choppy,  we  started  for  the  ship  an 
hour  before  she  was  to  sail  and  to  our  aston- 
ishment found  on  board  the  three  Arabs  whom 
we  had  left  on  shore.  How  they  got  there  I 
do  not  know  and  never  asked.  Said  was  still 
missing,  but  we  had  an  idea  he  would  turn 
up  somewhere  and  after  the  steamer  was  under 
full  headway  we  started  to  hunt  for  him.  We 
searched  and  called  for  a  long  time  without 
answer,  but  finally,  behind  the  "war  mare's" 
box,  crouched  down  under  some  sacks,  we 
found  him.  He  was  all  eyes  and  the  whites 
of  them  seemed  bigger  than  all  his  coal- 
black  face.     It  was  a  long  time  before  we  could 

[204] 


THE  SHIPMENT  OF  HORSES 

make  him  understand  that  it  was  safe  for  him 
to  come  out,  but  once  out  he  soon  saw  that  he 
was  past  danger  of  being  caught  and  ten  min- 
utes afterwards  he  was  as  busy  as  ever  feed- 
ing and  watering  the  horses. 

Anchoring  next  day  at  Latakia,  Thompson 
went  ashore  to  get  some  tobacco.  I  had  made 
up  my  mind  to  take  advantage  of  the  stop  and 
finish  up  some  pictures  that  I  had  under  way. 
Moore  was  not  feehng  entirely  fit,  though  much 
better,  so  stayed  aboard,  too.  Then  Thomp- 
son returned  and  said  he  had  found  the  Gov- 
ernor's staff  getting  boats  ready  to  come  out 
and  call  on  us,  as  the  Governor  had  been  noti- 
fied by  the  Governor  of  Aleppo  that  we  were 
on  the  steamer  with  the  finest  horses  that  had 
ever  come  out  of  the  desert. 

I  was  for  sticking  by  my  pictures,  but 
Thompson  and  Moore  insisted,  on  the  other 
hand,  that  we  should  call  on  the  Governor,  es- 
pecially as  he  had  been  told  of  our  arrival  by 
the  Governor  of  Aleppo. 

So,  not  expecting  anything  out  of  the  ordi- 
nary, but  still  against  my  wishes,  we  went 
ashore.  There  was  some  whispering  between 
Jack  and  Arthur  on  the  way  in  to  the  land,  and 
some  laughing.     My  trousers  were  consider- 

[20^] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

ably  torn  about  the  knee  and  other  places  from 
riding ;  I  had  no  tie,  and  there  were  a  few  other 
details  of  dress  missing  that  ordinarily  are  of 
little  importance  in  Oregon,  anyway,  but  it 
seemed  to  be  fun  for  the  boys.  Later  I  saw 
why. 

When  we  approached  the  dock  we  saw  that 
the  town  was  in  holiday  attire.  The  Governor 
of  Aleppo  had  dwelt  at  much  length  on  the 
importance  of  our  visit  and  the  streets  were 
jammed.  As  we  walked  off  the  dock  into  the 
carriage  waiting  to  take  us  to  the  Governor's 
Palace,  the  crowd  kept  looking  for  another 
boat  bearing  the  GREAT  PEOPLE.  They 
must  have  thought  we  were  the  advance  guard. 

Reaching  the  palace  Thompson  and  Moore 
could  hardly  keep  down  their  mirth.  I  saw 
then  for  the  first  time  that  the  holes  on  the 
shins  of  my  trousers  looked  a  little  bigger  than 
they  had  before,  and  I  felt  the  lack  of  that  tie. 
We  had  to  pass  the  Governor's  guard,  con- 
sisting possibly  of  a  thousand  soldiers,  who 
were  drawn  up  in  double  lines.  As  we  passed, 
most  of  them  knelt.  Thompson  had  been 
through  the  same  performance  in  the  morning, 
but  when  the  Governor  had  asked  him  for  the 
letters  from  President  Roosevelt,  and  the  doc- 

[  206  ] 


THE  SHIPMENT  OF  HORSES 

uments  from  the  Sultan,  which  the  Governor 
of  Aleppo  had  mentioned  in  his  telegram,  Jack 
had  told  him  that  they  were  on  the  ship  with 
another  man,  so  it  was  for  these  documents  the 
town  was  in  gala  attire,  and  not  for  the  men 
who  carried  them. 

We  marched  past  the  soldiers  to  the  entrance 
of  the  palace  and  the  Governor  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  doorway  with  outstretched  hands 
to  meet  us.  I  may  have  been  dressed  queer- 
ly — I  will  even  admit  it;  but  when  I  saw  the 
Governor  I  felt  better.  He  was  very  short 
and  very  wide — what  you  would  call  a  pon- 
derous small  man,  with  a  white  beard,  bald 
head,  and  straight  white  hair  down  the  back. 
He  was  a  man  of  much  importance  in  the  Sul- 
tan's list  of  great  men,  having  once  been  Gov- 
ernor of  Bagdad.  We  went  in  and  the  serv- 
ants dove  here  and  there  with  the  standard  old 
regulation  refreshments  of  coffee,  cigarettes, 
more  coffee  and  so  on,  and  then  in  some  very 
beautiful  cut-glass  tumblers,  purple  lemonade. 
We  had  been  used  to  red  thick  lemonade,  but 
this  was  purple.  The  Governor  could  not 
speak  English,  but  his  secretary  knew  a  few 
words.  After  half  an  hour's  visit,  we  were 
driven  round  in  a  grand  review  of  the  town 

[  207  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

with  soldiers  escorting  our  carriages.  Then 
we  were  taken  back  to  our  boat,  joined  by  all 
of  the  Governor's  staff  who  wanted  to  see  and 
inspect  the  horses  and  mares. 

From  Latakia  to  Naples,  the  trip,  so  far 
as  the  horses  were  concerned,  was  an  unevent  • 
ful  one.  We  had  ample  opportunity  to  re- 
cover from  the  strain  of  the  last  days  spent 
between  the  desert  and  Alexandretta  and  es- 
pecially from  the  wear  and  tear  of  the  shipping 
of  the  horses  at  the  latter  port.  Early  on  that 
day  I  had  nearly  succumbed  to  the  heat  and 
was  obliged  to  go  on  to  the  steamer.  Moore 
had  very  nearly  recovered  from  his  sharp  at- 
tack of  fever,  but  was  still  weak,  and  a  great 
deal  of  the  actual  work  fell  upon  Thompson. 

Active  and  strong  as  he  was,  he  must,  how- 
ever, have  received  in  his  system  some  germs  of 
the  pernicious  fever  which  one  always  finds  in 
Alexandretta.  He  was  in  perfect  health  at 
the  time  and  kept  in  perfect  health  until  late 
in  the  fall  of  last  year  (1908),  when  he  was 
attacked  with  a  sudden  fever,  the  symptoms 
of  which  indicated  that  he  must  have  first  been 
inoculated  with  it  in  Alexandretta.  I  regret 
deeply  to  add  that  the  attack  was  fatal  and 
that  our  companion  of  the  desert  passed  away 

[  208  ] 


THE  SHIPMENT  OF  HORSES 

almost  before  we  knew  he  was  ill.  Thompson 
added  greatly  to  the  pleasure  and  success  of 
our  trip.  He  had  the  knack  of  seeing  the 
cheerful  side  of  life  and  thoroughly  adapted 
himself  to  any  conditions.  He  never  had  a 
word  of  complaint  and  his  good  humor  helped 
us  through  many  unpleasant  times. 


[20P] 


CHAPTER  XVII 

NAPLES  AND  SOME  OF  THE  MISFORTUNES  WHICH 
OVERTOOK  US  THERE AMERICA  AT  LAST. 

When  we  reached  Naples  we  felt  relieved. 
We  thought  our  troubles  were  over.  Accord- 
ing to  our  contract  with  the  steamship  agent 
in  Alexandretta  the  horses  were  to  be  trans- 
ferred from  the  steamer  to  a  barge  and  then 
to  the  Nord  A7nerica,  a  much  larger  boat, 
where  they  would  be  put  on  the  middle  deck  in 
the  hold.  But  we  were  wrong.  Our  troubles 
were  only  beginning.  We  learned  almost  at 
once  that  the  Nord  America  was  filled  up 
with  emigrants  and  that  the  horses  would  have 
to  be  put  ashore,  and  possibly  taken  to  a  stable. 

Argument  was  of  no  avail.  We  had  to  take 
the  horses  ashore,  and  the  only  consolation  for 
the  "shindy"  that  followed  was  that  Naples 
had  for  once  a  real  horse  show.  The  young 
stallions  had  been  eating  their  heads  off  for 
two  weeks  on  a  smooth  Mediterranean  voyage 

[210] 


NAPLES 

and,  as  I  expected,  once  their  feet  touched  the 
ground  they  were  almost  unmanageable. 
They  simply  could  not  walk.  They  bucked, 
and  played,  and  reared,  and  squealed.  The 
place  where  we  disembarked  them  was  as 
thickly  jammed  with  people  as  is  Broadway  at 
Fulton  Street  at  the  noon  hour.  Beside  the 
crowd  there  was  a  switch  engine  running  up 
and  down  past  the  docks.  That  added  to  their 
fears. 

The  horses  had  been  lowered  in  their  boxes 
from  the  steamer  to  a  barge,  but  when  the 
Customs  Dock  was  reached  it  was  necessary 
to  take  the  animals  out  of  their  boxes  and  lead 
them  on  the  dock.  Then  the  boxes  were 
brought  on  to  the  dock  and  the  horses  had  to 
be  led  into  them  again.  That  sounds  easy.  It 
was  simple  enough  to  do  it  in  Alexandretta 
when  the  horses  were  tired  out  with  their  long 
trip.  Now  they  had  had  two  weeks'  rest  and 
plenty  of  food. 

The  boxes  were  made  of  soft  wood  and  it 
seemed  as  if  the  excited  animals  would  kick 
them  to  pieces.  The  men  on  the  barges  were 
bringing  the  horses  ashore  too  fast  and  we  had 
more  than  our  hands  full.  The  brown  stallion, 
the  Maneghi  Sbeyel,  our  pride,  had  torn  out 

[211] 


No  horses   were   more   sensible    than   these   while   being   trans- 
ferred  from   steamer   to  barge. 


NAPLES 

the  front  of  his  box  at  one  sweep  of  his  fore- 
foot, and  long  wire  nails  threatened  to  pierce 
his  flesh  at  any  moment.  The  Italians,  who 
were  handling  the  horses  for  the  shipping  com- 
pany, had  no  more  horse  sense  than  Chinamen 
who  had  never  seen  a  horse.  My  one  stand-by, 
Said,  who  knew  more  about  Arab  horses  than 
all  the  people  in  Naples,  I  could  not  find  for  a 
long  time.  When  I  did  he  was  just  where  I 
wanted  him  to  be.  He  came  off  the  barge 
leading  our  favorite  Gomussa,  the  blue-lipped 
colt,  our  finest  animal.  The  colt,  all  excite- 
ment from  the  squealing  of  the  stallions,  was, 
for  the  time  being,  transformed  into  a  wild 
horse.  He  reared,  and  jumped,  and  kicked, 
and  snorted,  and  stamped.  The  black  groom 
hung  to  him  and  tried  to  pacify  him  by  yelling 
an  Arab  word,  "Nam,"  "Nam,"  "Nam,"  but 
Gomussa  had  forgotten  his  Arabic.  He 
didn't  hear.  He  struck  the  groom  with  his 
forefoot  and  knocked  him  senseless,  apparent- 
ly, against  an  iron  fence.  I  caught  the  colt 
by  the  halter,  and  he  threw  me  off,  but  Said, 
who  was  not  hurt,  again  grabbed  him,  and  was 
hanging  on  by  the  head. 

Neither  of  us  had  been  injured,  but  a  mo- 
ment later  he  struck  Said  again,  and  this  time 

[213] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

the  groom  was  laid  out.  As  I  threw  all  my 
weight  to  try  and  keep  him  from  climbing  into 
the  box  of  the  Maneghi  Sbeyel,  some  Italians 
placed  a  box  in  front  of  him,  and  he  ran  into 
it.  Quick  as  a  flash  Said  was  closing  the 
doors.  Then  we  tied  his  head,  but  that  did 
not  stop  him.  He  kicked  and  the  boards  and 
splinters  flew,  and  to  make  matters  worse  he 
started  the  others  to  kicking.  But  Said  was  a 
wonder.  He  got  hobbles  from  the  barges  and 
at  the  risk  of  his  life  secured  the  horses,  and 
eventually  we  got  the  animals  all  ashore. 
It  took  all  of  Said's  skill  to  quiet  them  and 
there  was  much  kindling  wood  left  on  the 
docks.  The  horses  had  kicked  their  boxes  to 
pieces. 

And  it  was  very  discouraging.  Said 
and  Thompson  were  the  only  ones  that  kept 
up.  The  former  insisted  that  Allah  was  with 
us  and  had  imbued  Thompson  with  the  same 
faith.  I  could  see  no  hope.  The  next  day 
all  the  satisfaction  we  could  get  from  the 
steamship  company  was  permission  to  take 
the  horses  out  of  their  boxes  to  a  stable  across 
the  city.  The  route  to  it  led  through  the  nar- 
rowest of  streets  and  it  was  my  personal  de- 
sire to  put  the  animals  back  on  a  barge,  but 

[214] 


NAPLES 

that  was  impossible.  I  feared  the  worst  from 
the  attempt  to  lead  them  through  the  streets. 
However,  there  was  nothing  else  to  do  and  so 
our  iVa23les  horse-show  began. 

The  procession  was  to  start  with  the  bay 
Seglawi  Jedran  two-year-old  colt,  the  oldest 
son  of  the  war  mare,  for  he  was  sensible  and 
quiet.  Then  was  to  come  the  brown  stallion, 
the  "Pride  of  the  Desert,"  and  after  him  an- 
other two-year-old.  The  other  stallions  and 
two-year-olds  were  to  follow  and  the  mares 
and  colts  were  to  come  last.  I  was  to  bring 
up  the  rear  with  the  man  who  was  leading 
Wadduda,  the  war  mare.  I  made  Said  lead 
the  blue-lipped  colt,  with  the  best  groom  in 
Naples  at  the  other  rein,  and  I  also  had  two 
men  leading  the  Maneghi  Sbeyel. 

To  my  surprise,  when  the  order  was  given 
for  them  to  back  out  of  the  stalls,  the  proces- 
sion moved  off  quietly  and  the  horses  took  no 
notice  of  the  trolleys,  or  the  automobiles,  which 
were  all  around  them.  Wadduda  was  gay  and 
prancing,  but  her  main  fret  and  worry  was  to 
keep  up  with  the  horses  on  ahead.  As  we 
passed  close  by  the  equestrian  statue  of  Vic- 
tor Emmanuel,  the  grandfather  of  the  present 
king,  showing  him  mounted  on  an  Arab  stal- 

[  215  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

lion,  I  looked  up  with  a  sigh,  wishing  that  I 
could  change  places  with  him.  I  thought  I 
was  more  fit  to  handle  the  statue.  We  reached 
the  stables,  though,  and  got  in  without  acci- 
dent. 

We  got  back  to  the  hotel  and  the  tempera- 
ture began  to  drop  rapidly.  The  clouds  were 
getting  black,  especially  round  Vesuvius. 
The  wind  howled  and  within  an  hour  the  hail 
was  battering  the  blinds  off.  Jack  Thompson 
came  in,  and  slapping  me  on  the  back  said ; 

"If  you'd  had  your  way,  and  put  'em  back 
on  the  barges,  how  many  horses  would  you 
have  alive  when  morning  comes?"     I  replied: 

"Jack,  none." 

He  said:  "You're  right  for  once.  I  tell  you 
that  Allah  is  with  you,  and  you  don't  know  it. 
Said  knows  it  and  if  you  will  just  make  up 
your  mind  to  that  I  believe  that  our  horses  will 
all  reach  New  York  safely.  This  trip  has 
been  managed  by  someone  else,  and  that's 
been  proven  a  dozen  times." 

It  was  nice  to  believe,  if  vou  could  believe 
it.  It  was  an  easy  way  out  of  the  trouble. 
But  it  did  not  seem  true,  until  next  morning 
we  saw  the  wreck  of  the  barge  on  which  I  had 
wanted  to  leave  the  horses.     It  was  in  splint- 

[216] 


NAPLES 

ers.  Other  ships  had  broken  their  anchor 
chains.  Then  it  seemed  that  Allah  had  indeed 
saved  us.  The  faith  of  Said  was  often  com- 
forting. And  we  needed  the  comfort,  for  we 
seemed  to  be  completely  sidetracked.  We  ap- 
pealed to  the  American  Consul  at  Naples  and 
that  official  did  everything  both  officially  and 
personally.  He  communicated  with  all  the 
officers  of  the  steamship  company,  but  all  of 
them  said  in  effect:  "You  will  have  to  wait." 
Wait!  We  who  were  just  back  from  the  East 
knew  what  waiting  meant!  Just  simply — 
never. 

I  had  in  my  pocket  the  bills  of  lading  which 
called  for  the  delivery  of  the  horses  in  New 
York  on  September  28,  but  that  seemed  to 
make  no  difference  with  the  steamship  com- 
pany. The  local  agent  explained  easily  that 
we  would  have  to  wait  for  the  next  boat,  the 
Italia.  The  Italia  arrived  at  Genoa  en  route 
for  Naples  and  we  were  informed  that  she 
could  not  take  horses  because  of  the  emi- 
grants. Each  day  brought  a  new  plan.  Now 
we  would  ship  the  horses  to  London,  but  no 
boats  would  take  us  to  London ;  now  we  would 
ship  to  France,  but  no  boats  would  take  us  to 
France^  now  we  would  charter  a  special  steam- 

[  2171 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

er,  but  there  was  no  special  steamer  to  charter. 
Should  we  be  obliged  to  rent  winter  quarters 
and  just  wait  as  the  agent  of  the  steam- 
ship company  had  said  we  should  do?  That 
was  not  to  be  thought  of.  I  decided  that  some- 
thing had  to  be  done  at  once. 

I  sent  a  telegram  to  the  King  of  Italy,  ap- 
pealing to  him  as  a  horseman.  I  told  him 
that  though  my  horses  had  been  billed  through 
to  New  York  by  an  Italian  line,  they  were  be- 
ing held  up  indefinitely.  The  Italia  in  the 
meantime  had  arrived,  and  the  captain  repeat- 
ed that  he  had  orders  to  take  on  no  horses,  and 
that  he  would  not  think  of  doing  so,  as  he  had 
more  emigrants  than  his  ship  could  comfort- 
ably hold.  Then  I  played  trumps  and  cabled 
to  the  President.  An  answer  arrived  from 
Washington  that  carried  with  it  a  punch.  It 
was  plain  and  simple,  but  it  demanded  an  im- 
mediate reply.     It  read : 

"State  Department  at  Washington  wants  to 
know  if  it  is  true  that  this  shipment  of  horses 
is  held  on  account  of  emigrants  being  shipped 
to  America." 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  action  just  then 
round  the  office  of  the  steamship  company. 
Ambassador  White,  at  Rome,  demanded  an 

[218] 


I— i 


a 

-♦-> 
CQ 

O 


.Q 


O 


O 

C 

a> 

C 
OS 

Eh 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

answer  to  a  telegram  which  he  had  sent  and  as 
a  result  the  Italia  was  detained  a  day  in 
order  that  the  horses  might  be  taken  on  board. 
True,  there  was  no  other  accommodation  for 
them  except  on  the  upper  deck,  in  the  very 
bow  of  the  boat,  where  they  would  be  exposed 
to  all  kinds  of  weather  that  might  come  along, 
but  I  consented  to  ship  them.  I  did  this  under 
protest,  as  our  contract  demanded  that  from 
Naples  to  New  York  the  horses  were  to  be 
carried  between  decks. 

Marching  back  to  the  steamship  dock  the 
horses  paraded  like  a  cavalry  troop.  They 
had  created  a  good  deal  of  interest  in  Naples 
and  thousands  of  people  had  gathered  daily 
to  see  them  exercised  in  a  small  park  which 
had  a  bridle  path,  and  when  we  started  for  the 
steamer  the  streets  were  lined. 

At  one  crossing  the  crowd  was  very  dense, 
just  leaving  a  leeway  for  the  horses  to  pass. 
The  blue-lipped  colt  was  giving  us  the  most 
trouble  of  any.  He  had  on  a  blind  bridle 
and  it  bothered  him  because  he  could  not  see 
behind  him  or  to  the  sides.  There  was  a  hump 
on  his  back  that  showed  what  he  might  do  if 
the  proper  occasion  came.  Right  at  the  thick- 
est point  of  the  crowd,  a  young  boy  stood  with 

[220] 


NAPLES 

a  large  board  on  his  head  on  which  were  many 
pies.  Before  I  could  yell  to  him,  as  the  blue- 
lipped  colt  came  by  he  slapped  the  beast  on 
the  rump,  and  almost  instantaneously  the  colt 
kicked  the  pie  counter  off  his  head.  It  was 
done  so  quickly  that  the  boy  didn't  realize 
what  had  happened.  As  he  looked  behind  him 
to  see  who  had  knocked  the  pies  off,  they  went 
rolling  in  every  direction,  while  the  hundreds 
of  people  roared  with  laughter.  The  pier 
was  reached  without  further  mishap  and  the 
horses  were  hoisted  on  the  deck  of  the  Italia 
way  up  among  the  anchor  chains. 

At  the  last  minute  Jack  Thompson  agreed 
to  go  on  the  ship  with  the  horses,  permitting 
Arthur  and  myself  to  take  advantage  of  a 
faster  boat  which  w^ould  get  to  New  York  a 
week  before  the  Italia.  There  w^as  nothing 
that  could  be  done  during  the  voyage,  for  any 
of  the  horses,  that  Jack  Thompson  could  not 
do,  so  we  left  him,  with  the  belief  that  Allah 
was  with  him,  and  would  see  him  safely 
through.  Allah  was  good  and  the  horses  ar- 
rived safely.  More  than  safely  indeed. 
Many  of  them  had  caught  bad  colds  and 
coughs  in  Naples,  but  when  they  reached  the 
dock  in  Hoboken  they  were  in  perfect  condi- 

[2^1  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

tion  and  health.  The  next  day  storms  swept 
the  ocean,  and  steamers  due  the  following  day 
were  three  days  late. 

Many  of  the  horses  had  stood  on  their  feet 
from  the  28th  day  of  August  until  the  8th  day 
of  October,  yet  when  they  were  led  off  the 
boat  onto  the  docks,  they  played  and  pranced, 
with  legs  free  from  any  swelling  whatever. 
On  reaching  the  farm,  one  stallion  stood  up  in 
his  box  for  another  twenty-four  hours  before 
he  lay  down. 

I  had  had  many  visions  while  seeing  these 
horses  eat  the  poor  chaff  and  barley  of  the  des- 
ert, of  what  a  pleasure  it  would  be  to  see  them 
eating  timothy  hay  and  oats.  So  I  suffered 
a  severe  disappointment  to  observe  that  none 
of  the  horses  would  touch  these  things,  but  at( 
their  bedding  instead.  This  went  on  for  sev- 
eral days  until  we  grew  alarmed.  Many  of 
the  mares  became  gaunt  for  want  of  nourish- 
ing food.  They  would  root  in  their  bedding 
to  hunt  for  food  like  that  to  which  they  had 
been  accustomed.  So  we  fooled  them  in  this 
way:  we  sprinkled  the  bottom  of  their  box 
stalls  with  cut-up  hay  dampened,  with  oats  and 
middlings  and  then  bedded  over  it.  When 
they  rooted  in  the  bedding  they  found    this 

[222] 


NAPLES 

food,  and  within  two  weeks  began  to  eat  it 
out  of  the  manger.  And  so  the  desert  horses 
came  to  America. 

We  could  not  but  feel  some  elation  over  the 
fact  that  the  importation  had  been  successfully 
carried  out.  It  is  a  far  cry  from  the  home  of 
the  Anezeh  to  Morris  Plains,  and,  as  we  had 
found,  the  journey  was  beset  with  difficulties. 
To  have  overcome  them  all  and  to  have 
brought  the  string  of  horses  in  safety  to  this 
country  was  a  satisfaction,  to  put  it  as  mildly 
as  possible.  I  will  not  speak  at  length  here 
of  the  successful  results  of  the  importation, 
but  perhaps  those  who  have  followed  the  story 
of  the  Maneghi  Sbeyel  stallion,  "The  Pride  of 
the  Desert,"  the  gift  to  me  from  Nazim  Pasha, 
will  like  to  read  of  his  achievements  here.  He 
has  proved  that  horsemen  are  the  same  the 
world  over,  whether  they  wear  the  rough  cloaks 
of  the  Bedouins  spun  under  camel-hair  tents 
or  frock  coats  built  on  Fifth  Avenue.  The 
Bedouins  followed  us  from  the  desert  to  the 
coast,  breeding  two  mares  a  day  to  him. 

When  we  reached  America,  our  horsemen 
also  picked  him  from  the  rest  as  the  best  ani- 
mal of  the  lot.  He  was  written  of  by  experts 
and  horsemen  as  being  of  the  Morgan  type,  as 

[223] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

we  had  noted  when  we  first  saw  him  in  the 
Governor's  palace  in  Aleppo.  In  the  follow- 
ing June,  after  his  arrival  in  America,  he  was 
shown  at  Rutland,  Vermont,  at  the  horse 
show,  in  an  open  competition  with  stallions, 
for  the  "Justus  Morgan  Cup."  In  this  con- 
test he  met  representatives  of  the  finest  strains 
of  the  Morgan  horse  of  the  present  time  and 
he  won.  That  alone  was  sufficient  compensa- 
tion for  the  trouble  and  expense  of  the  entire 
journey. 


[224] 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

OF     SAID     ABDALLAH      AND      HIS     NOTIONS      OF 

AMERICA. 

Said  Abdallah,  my  Bedouin  groom  boy, 
constantly  asserted  all  through  the  voyage 
from  Alexandretta  that  Allah  was  with  us  and 
would  bring  us  in  safety  to  the  end.  His  faith 
had  helped  us  out  of  the  dumps  in  Naples  and 
his  devotion  to  us  and  to  the  horses  should  not 
go  unremembered.  When  Akmet  Haffez 
presented  to  me  Wadduda,  the  war  mare, 
Said  came  with  the  gift  and  ever  after  counted 
himself  as  one  of  my  family.  To  guard  him 
against  fits  of  homesickness  or  melancholy,  be- 
fore he  had  learned  to  speak  any  English,  I 
often  took  him  with  me,  especially  when  I  took 
mv  own  children  to  shows  and  circuses.  He 
had  never  seen  even  a  street  fakir  in  his  own 
country,  so  that  the  strain  was  naturally  very 
heavy  on  a  brain  so  undeveloped  and  at  first 
it  seemed  a  little  dangerous  to  show  him  the 

[  225  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

wonders  of  the  New  York  Hippodrome,  but  I 
did.  No  eyes  ever  saw  as  his  did  that  after- 
noon. He  had  never  seen  elephants,  nor  any 
pictures  of  them.  He  had  not  even  heard  of 
the  beast.  His  first  query  was  to  ask  if  they 
were  real,  or  just  made  of  cloth.  He  saw 
Mermaids  come  from  the  water  and  return 
again.  If  the  roof  had  dropped  in  and  sprung 
back  to  its  place.  Said  would  have  thought 
it  was  on  the  regular  programme. 

After  each  show  his  brain  was  worn  out  for 
a  day,  and  occasionally  severe  headaches  fol- 
lowed, but  his  comments  were  often  delight- 
fully true. 

Especially  are  his  criticisms  on  the  high-act- 
ing horses  of  the  National  Horse  Show  worthy 
of  publishing  here.  He  had  never  seen  a 
horse  artificially  exhibited.  He  came  from  a 
race  of  people  who,  strangely  enough,  believe 
that  if  God  did  not  intend  a  horse  to  hold  its 
head  up,  it  is  a  shame  to  pull  it  up  with 
a  chain.  He  also  had  the  curious  idea  that  if 
a  horse  does  not  elevate  its  tail  naturally,  it 
is  cruel  to  dock  the  tail.  Of  course  such  ideas 
are  desert  barbarisms,  but  at  the  Horse  Show 
they  sounded  naive  and  amusing. 

One  day,  accompanied  by  an  interpreter,  he 

[226] 


OF  SAID  ABDALLAH 

went  to  the  Horse  Show,  and  saw  there  for  the 
first  time,  a  good  team  of  high-acting  horses, 
a  pair  that  almost  bumped  their  chins  with 
their  knees.  At  first  his  eyes  nearly  bulged 
from  their  sockets.  He  held  up  his  hands  in 
horror  as  he  exclaimed  "Mashalla!  Mashal- 
la !  Is  there  truly  a  race  of  horses  that  go  up 
and  down  in  the  same  place?" 

When  told  that  what  he  saw  was  the  result  of 
training  and  artificial  breeding,  and  that  the 
horse  himself  was  not  to  blame,  he  uttered  an 
exclamation  of  pity.  Then  he  said  suddenly : 
"No,"  and  pointed  above  him;  "the  desert  isn't 
up  there,  but  always  in  front  of  you;  God  made 
a  horse  to  get  over  it  with  the  least  effort,  not 
the  most."  I  have  no  comment  to  make  on 
these  remarks  of  Said.  I  do  not  think  any  are 
necessary. 

Within  a  year  Said  had  mastered  enough  of 
English  to  get  along  in  ordinary  conversation, 
especially  if  it  pertained  to  horses.  There  was 
only  one  thing  he  could  not  understand  and 
does  not  to  this  day.  He  cannot  comprehend 
how  the  newspapers  know  that  it  is  or  is  not 
going  to  rain  to-morrow.  He  admits  that 
God  knows,  but  he  is  doubtful  if  any  news- 
paper does. 

[227] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

He  is  as  fine  an  example  of  faithfulness  as 
could  be  found.  After  he  had  been  in  this 
country  nearly  a  year,  and  had  beaten  off  many 
attacks  of  blues,  Dr.  Frank  Hoskins  of  the 
American  Mission  at  Beyrout,  Syria,  came  to 
the  farm  to  see  the  horses,  and  talked  with  the 
boy  who  had  been  with  the  Anezeh.  Reach- 
ing home  in  the  evening,  I  was  informed  that 
ever  since  Dr.  Hoskins  had  taken  his  depar- 
ture Said  had  been  crying.  Evidently  a  fit  of 
homesickness  had  seized  him.  I  went  to  the 
barn  to  see  him  and  he  came  smilingly  from 
one  of  the  dark  corners.  But  I  could  see  that 
his  eyes  were  much  swollen  and  still  wet  with 
tears.  I  asked  him  if  he  had  enjoyed  his  talk 
with  the  visitor  and  he  said  he  had,  for  he  had 
spoken  Arabic  as  if  he  were  at  home.  He 
tried  to  appear  happy  and  with  forced  en- 
thusiasm told  how  Dr.  Hoskins  had  admired 
and  liked  Wadduda,  the  war  mare,  and  ''The 
Pride  of  the  Desert,"  best  of  all  the  horses. 
But  he  was  plainly  homesick  for  the  sights  and 
smells  of  the  desert  and  there  seemed  to  be  no 
way  to  console  him.  His  broken  English  only 
made  his  protestations  that  he  was  happy  the 
more  pitiful. 

[  228  ] 


OF  SAID  ABDALLAH 

"Said,"  I  said  at  last,  "you  have  been 
crying." 

"What  cry,  JMr.  Davenport?" 

**Your  eyes,"  I  answered,  "are  almost 
swollen  shut  with  weeping." 

His  head  dropped  and  his  chest  began  to  rise 
and  fall.     After  a  moment  or  two  he  said: 

"Mr.  Davenport,  before  Allah,  my  heart  no 
mad." 

Then  he  broke  out  and  exclaimed  that  at 
night  when  he  shut  his  eyes  his  thoughts  took 
him  to  the  Anezeh,  and  he  joined  the  tribes  as 
they  swing  to  the  south.  Now  they  are  past 
Deyr  and  approaching  Nejd  they  get  into  war 
with  the  Shammar!  Then  he  wakes  up  and 
finds  that  he  is  not  in  the  desert,  but  in  Mor- 
ris Plains.  He  turns  on  the  other  side  and 
sleeps ;  and  by  and  by  his  brain  goes  to  Aleppo 
and  when  he  meets  his  once  great  master, 
Akmet  Haffez,  he  grasps  him  by  the  hand. 
Again  he  wakes  up,  and  he  is  still  in  Morris 
Plains. 

"But,  Mr.  Davenport,"  he  added  bravely, 
"Allah  knows  my  heart  no  mad." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "Said,  I  am  going  to  send 
you  back  to  the  desert." 

"Said  go  desert?" 

[  229  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "y^^  ^^^  E^^^B  back  to  the 
desert." 

He  broke  down  with  hysterical  laughter, 
and  grasj)ing  me  by  the  hands  commenced  to 
kiss  them,  and  tell  me  that  I  was  too  good  to 
stay  in  this  country,  that  I  ought  to  live  with 
my  brother  in  the  desert. 

"Mr.  Davenport,  Said  go  desert  two  or  three 
months?" 

"No,  Said,  in  two  or  three  weeks.  I  will 
find  a  ship,  if  I  can,  that  will  take  you  direct 
to  Iscanderoon,  Alexandretta.  There  vou  can 
follow  the  old  Roman  road  across  the  moun- 
tains to  Aleppo,  and  from  there  the  camel  car- 
avan route  to  the  desert." 

I  turned  and  walked  away,  bidding  him 
good-night,  and  had  nearly  reached  the  house, 
when  he  called  to  me  and  asked  if  I  would  say 
before  God  that  my  heart  was  not  mad.  I  will 
admit  that  after  dinner  I  went  to  bed  early, 
and  did  not  get  much  sleep. 

I  got  up  before  daylight,  still  restless,  and 
went  out,  and  there  in  the  north  pasture  saw 
an  impressive  spectacle — the  trying  out  of 
Said's  religious  faith.  Wadduda,  the  war 
mare,  dressed  and  draped  in  all  her  beautiful, 
wild  regalia,  was  in  the   pasture.     From  her 

[230] 


OF  SAID  ABDALLAH 

neck  hung  the  beads  of  a  wild  tribe,  and  from 
the  desert  saddle  long  flowing  tassels  swayed 
in  the  morning  breeze.  It  must  have  taken 
Said  half  an  hour  to  have  draped  her.  Stick- 
ing in  the  dirt  at  her  side,  towering  over  her 
head  ten  feet  or  more,  was  the  war  spear  from 
the  Anezeh.  Kneeling  on  his  prayer  rug  in 
front  of  her  forefeet  was  Said,  facing,  as  I  first 
thought,  the  strip  of  timber  across  the  road. 
But  as  I  watched  the  picture  I  saw  that  he 
was  praying  toward  the  light  spot  on  the  hori- 
zon— toward  Mecca.  I  watched  for  fully  five 
minutes.  The  boy  touched  his  lips  and  fore- 
head with  an  upward  stroke  of  the  hand,  and 
dropping  both  hands  beside  him,  looked  intent- 
ly for  a  moment  at  the  approaching  dawn. 

Rising  up  slowly,  he  picked  up  his  little 
prayer  rug,  lifted  his  spear  from  the  damp 
earth,  while  the  beautiful  prancing  mare  came 
to  his  side.  Her  tail  was  swinging  proudly 
from  side  to  side. 

As  they  approached  me  I  saw  that  Said's 
eyes  were,  if  anything,  more  swollen  than  they 
had  been  the  evening  before.  To  cheer  him 
up,  I  spoke  to  him  first. 

"Said,  I  thought  when  I  saw  you  in  the  pas- 

[  231  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

ture  that  you  were  some  member  of  the 
Anezeh  that  had  come  to  see  me." 

''La"  (no),  "Mr.  Davenport  Said  no  see 
Anezeh." 

"You  are  going  back  to  the  desert." 

"No  go  desert.  All  night  Said  no  sleep — 
sit  down,  no  lay  down.  Go  Wadduda  stall, 
pray ;  come  back,  no  answer — no  sleep — pray, 
no  sleep." 

Turning,  he  pointed  out  into  the  pasture  to 
the  little  knoll,  and  said  that  there  a  few  mo- 
ments ago  Allah  had  answered  his  prayer. 
When  he  found  where  Mecca  was,  he  had 
prayed  to  Allah  and  Allah  had  told  him 
that  he  was  not  to  go  back  to  the  desert;  that 
he  had  been  given  with  Wadduda  by  Akmet 
Haffez  to  me;  and  that  he  was  going  to  stay 
as  long  as  Wadduda  lived — would  stay  even 
when  she  was  gone,  with  her  colt  and  her  colt's 
colt,  and  was  never  going  back  to  the  desert. 
He  has  never  been  homesick  since. 


[232] 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE    BEDOUIN    OF    THE    DESERT HIS    SON    AND 

HIS  DAUGHTER,  HIS  CATTLE  AND  THE  STRAN- 
GER THAT  IS  WITHIN  HIS  GATES 

The  desert  Bedouin  is  to  the  Ottoman  Em- 
pire what  our  Indians  were  to  North  America. 
He  is  of  two  kinds — the  agriculturist  and  the 
warrior  who  carries  the  lance.  The  two 
classes  are  in  great  contrast,  but  when  you 
have  seen  both  you  incline  towards  the  former 
notwithstanding  all  the  poetry  and  glamor 
which  attach  to  the  fighter.  Despite  their 
racial  likeness  you  can  see  the  difference  be- 
tween them  at  once.  The  agriculturist  is,  of 
course,  the  more  domestic.  He  stays  pretty 
much  in  one  place  and  is  content  with  a  mud 
house  and  a  few  camels,  and  maybe  a  mare  or 
two.  He  is  apt  to  have  many  sheep,  and  long- 
eared  black  goats,  and  possibly  ten  or  twenty 
head  of  strange-looking  cattle,  together  with  a 
few  chickens  and  turkeys.     He  is  a  much  kind- 

[  233  ] 


MY  QUEST  OP  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

er-looking  man  than  his  fighting  brother.  He 
Hves  close  to  the  ground  and  hkes  the  smell 
of  it. 

The  warrior  is  an  idler.  When  he  walks  he 
swings  his  long  robes  with  an  indolent  grace 
that  impresses  you  with  the  idea  that  he  is 
not  hurried  for  time.  He  has  no  occupation 
other  than  war,  therefore  his  plans  are  not 
made  far  ahead.     He  keeps  one  mare,  at  least, 


One    of   the    young   men    of    the    Anezeh. 

always  saddled  so  that  he  may  spring  on  her 
back  at  the  slightest  alarm.  Near  where  she 
is  picketed  his  long  spear  is  stuck  in  the  ground 
ready  to  be  seized  for  immediate  action.  But 
otherwise  he  is  lazy. 

He  sips  coffee  all  day  long,  and  smokes  al- 
most incessantly.  He  is  fond  of  talking  of 
horses  and  firearms,  and  prides  himself  on  be- 
ing a  gentleman.     But  he  will  not  work.     His 

[234] 


THE  BEDOUIN  OF  THE  DESERT 

eyes  often  gleam  with  a  wild  expression ;  every 
motion  and  gesture  he  makes  is  artistic  and  he 
is  well  imbued  with  the  innate  sense  of  polite- 
ness which  does  not  need  to  be  taught.  Though 
you  might  be  the  first  white  person  he 
ever  saw,  his  manners  are  alw^avs  those  of  a 
gentleman.     He  visits  all  day  long,  and  until 


"^'^  £*^4^^  t^^Zft  pm>f  //?/?«  6 


An    old    Bedouin    from    the    Sabba    Anezeh    and    his    Maneghi- 
Hedruj    horse   that   we   purchased. 

quite  late  in  the  evening;  he  is  liable  to  get  up 
at  any  time  in  the  night  and  have  coffee,  and 
smoke,  and  talk,  and  he  is  generally  in  a  good 
humor.  But  he  will  not  work.  He  has  a  gen- 
eral air  of  weariness. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  with  the  idea  of  fight- 
ing constantly  in  his  mind,  he  really  believes 

[235] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

that  he  does  not  have  time  to  work.  As  long 
as  he  has  enough  for  himself  and  his  horses  he 
is  perfectly  willing  to  lead  the  hand-to-mouth 
existence  which  his  ancestors  have  led  for  hun- 
dreds of  years  before  him.  To-day  he  does 
not  know  where  he  will  be  to-morrow.  Al- 
though he  has,  in  a  way,  a  fixed  route  of  travel 
he  can  never  be  sure  that  it  will  be  carried  out 
entirely  according  to  the  rule.  He  does  not 
sow  any  crops,  for  he  does  not  know 
who  will  reap  them — almost  certainly  not  him- 
self. Why  then  should  he  work?  He  can  al- 
ways depend  upon  his  brother,  the  farmer. 

But  underneath  his  indolence  of  manner, 
his  slowness  of  movement  and  his  chariness  of 
speech — behind  all  his  apparent  inertia  and 
lack  of  initiative — every  now  and  then  you  get 
a  glimpse  of  a  crude,  elemental  force,  the  ex- 
istence of  which  you  had  not  even  guessed. 

At  first  it  startles  you.  You  have  been  re- 
ceived with  the  grace  and  charm  of  true  hos- 
pitality. You  have  been  made  entirely  at 
home  in  your  strange  surroundings.  You 
have  given  up  wondering  how  such  polished 
gentlemen  (and  I  use  the  term  in  its  best 
sense)  could  be  found  in  such  a  desolate,  bar- 
ren, God-forsaken    country.     Then — just     a 

[  236  ] 


THE  BEDOUIN  OF  THE  DESERT 

look,  perhaps  at  some  inadvertent  remark  you 
may  have  made ;  maybe  a  gesture,  slight  in  it- 
self, but  full  of  significance,  changes  the  en- 
tire aspect.  The  whole  thing  is  undefinable, 
but  as  you  look  through  the  flaps  of  the  goat- 
hair  tent  under  which  you  are  sitting  and  out 
on  the  desert  you  realize  that  the  warrior 
Bedouin  is  in  his  right  place.  In  a  fertile 
country,  clothed  with  verdure,  he  would  be  out 
of  place;  trees  and  buildings  would  spoil  the 
picture  of  which  he  is  the  central  figure. 
There  is  that  about  him  which  needs  for  its 
existence  the  great  expanse  of  sterile  nature 
you  see  around  him.  Elsewhere  he  would 
shrink  into  a  mere  curiosity.  He  would  pass 
into  the  type  you  are  apt  to  see  at  Coney 
Island. 

The  Anezeh  are  the  most  powerful  of  all 
the  Bedouins;  they  are  the  greatest  in  war 
and  therefore  they  rank  the  highest.  They 
are  a  migrating  tribe,  circling  the  desert  an- 
nually. In  winter  they  keep  near  Nejd  in 
Central  Arabia,  where  it  is  warm  and  where 
the  feed  is  better.  As  spring  approaches  they 
start  north  along  the  Euphrates,  passing 
Bagdad  and  Deyr  where  they  sell  some  of  their 
colts  and  then  keep  on  into  the  northern  part 

[237] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

of  the  Syrian  desert,  near  Aleppo,  where  they 
spend  the  summer  months  among  the  pastoral 
tribes. 

As  fall  comes  they  start  across  the  upper 
end  of  the  desert,  brushing  over  past  Palmyra, 
and  on  down  in  the  direction  of  Riad.  This 
schedule  has  been  in  force  ever  since  the  his- 
tory of  the  desert  has  been  recorded. 

All  Bedouin  Sheikhs  hold  their  position  by 
inheritance,  and  among  the  great  sheikhs  of 
the  desert  there  have  been  some  notable  men. 
Paris,  the  late  head  of  the  Shammar  tribe,  was 
a  man  whose  memory  has  already  become  a 
tradition.  Though  constantly  their  enemy,  the 
greater  men  of  the  Anezeh  tribe  told  me  of  his 
goodness  and  his  courage.  He  was  honesty 
itself.  Once  when  his  tribes  had  robbed  some 
of  the  agricultural  Bedouins  of  their  sheep,  the 
losers  went  to  the  great  sheikh  himself,  and 
told  him  how  his  tribe  had  ravished  their 
flocks.  Instantly  Paris  told  them  to  go  and 
count  out  the  same  number  of  sheep  from  his 
own  personal  flocks  and  take  them  home.  He 
was  made  the  brother  of  Wilfred  Blunt,  Esq., 
twenty-nine  or  thirty  years  ago.  At  his  death 
the  whole  desert  mourned,  feeling  that  one  of 
the  greatest  of  their  kindred  had  passed  away. 

[  238  ] 


THE  BEDOUIN  OF  THE  DESERT 

One  of  the  rarest  souvenirs  that  Ave  brought 
from  the  desert  was  the  last  seal  of  Fan's 
that  the  Anezeh  ever  saw.  This  was  a  fine 
black  impression  on  the  pedigree  of  the 
Abeyan  Sherrakieh  mare,  on  which  Moore  had 
made  his  memorable  ride.  Although  he  had 
been  their  life-long  enemy,  the  Anezeh  gave  it 
up  rather  reluctantly  and  only  under  pressure 
from  Akmet  Half ez. 

Hashem  Bey,  the  Sheikh  of  the  Anezeh,  has 
been  ruling  since  he  was  twelve  years  old.  He 
told  me  his  tribe  numbered  70,000  tents,  and 
would  average  six  or  eight  occupants  to  a  tent. 
The  great  Anezeh  are  divided  into  many  tribes 
and  sub-tribes,  chief  of  which  is  the  Sebaa  and 
the  one  containing  the  finest  horses.  All  of 
the  sub-tribes,  however,  acknowledge  Hashem 
Bey  as  their  highest  ruler  and  on  matters  of 
great  importance  they  are  bound  to  obey  his 
orders  under  their  own  Sheikh.  They  all  unite 
when  a  big  war  is  on.  They  own  together 
about  300,000  camels,  and  unless  an  Anezeh 
has  a  hundred  sheep  and  five  camels  he  is  not 
allowed  to  maintain  a  tent.  With  that  num- 
ber, however,  he  has  the  right  to  marry  four 
wives. 

The  Anezeh,  as  may  have  been  gathered, 

[239] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

are  habituated  to  war  and  robbery.  They 
believe  that  to  cultivate  the  soil  is  to  sink 
in  the  esteem  of  their  fellow  men,  so  they  pre- 
fer to  be  dignified,  and  die,  if  possible,  on 
horseback,  or  at  their  horse's  feet  on  the  field 
of  battle.  They  own  immense  flocks  of  sheep 
that  must  produce  fine  wool  as  well  as  mutton, 
as  they  are  the  "fat-tailed"  variety.  These, 
with  goats,  and  their  camels,  are  their  chief  as- 
sets except  what  they  get  by  robbery.  They 
do  not,  as  a  rule,  fight  among  themselves,  but 
they  rob  the  Arabs  who  have  settled  down  to 
farming,  or  they  war  on  other  tribes,  especial- 
ly the  Shammar,  and  its  sub-tribes  across  the 
Euphrates.  They  fight,  in  the  main,  with  the 
lance,  but  in  recent  years  they  have  acquired 
quantities  of  rifles,  and  it  is  estimated  that  the 
Anezeh  have  several  thousands  of  guns. 

As  I  have  said  before,  the  true  Bedouin  is 
a  gentleman.  In  natural  politeness  he  is  un- 
equaled.  He  eats  with  his  fingers  and  some 
of  his  personal  habits  are  not  pleasant,  but 
his  hospitality  is  unsurpassed  and  even  if  he 
hates  you  he  has  the  knack  of  making  his  hos- 
pitality appear  entirely  genuine.  You  may 
be  his  personal  enemy,  as  well  as  his  tribal 
enemy,  still,  if  you  come  and  touch  his  tent 

[240] 


THE  BEDOUIN  OF  THE  DESERT 

rope,  he  is  bound  to  protect  you;  you  are 
his  guest.  Young  boys  who  had  never 
seen  a  white  man  before,  when  we  passed, 
if  they  were  sitting,  arose.  When  you  go 
to  a  man's  tent,  or  especially  a  Sheikh  tent, 
though  you  may  have,  as  we  had,  fifty  in  our 
party,  and  many  animals  to  feed,  you  are  his 
guest  for  three  days,  and  he  will  not  let  you 
pay  for  anything. 

To  offer  a  tip  would  be  an  insult    to    the 
poorest  Bedouin.     In  the  middle  of  one  night, 
when  we  stopped  to  drink  from  an  old  well, 
a    ragged    Arab    held    my    horse    and    gave 
me  some  grapes.     It  was  between    two    and 
three  in  the  morning,  and  you  can  tip  most  of 
us  at  that    hour.     There    was    no    one    close 
enough  to  see  him  when  I  tried  to  hand  him  a 
piece  of  silver,  but  he  shoved  it  back  without 
a  word,  a  thing  I  didn't  think  would  be  done 
in  any  country  of  the  world.     There  is  some 
answer  to  this,  but  no  one  seems  to  know  what 
it  is.     I  certainly  do  not.     In  Aleppo  they 
would  take  money  of  any  kind  and  in  Beyrout 
you  were  afraid  they  would  take  your  life. 
And  on  Broadway  did  you  ever  offer  anybody 
any  money  at  any  time  of  the  day  or  night  and 
have  it  refused? 

[241] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

If  you  yawn  they  think  you  are  tired,  and 
will  leave  you  so  that  you  can  sleep.  Nothing 
would  induce  them  to  enter  your  tent  until  you 
had  entered  it.  If  a  Bedouin  tells  you  the 
breed  of  a  horse,  or  mare,  you  can  bet  it  is  true. 
They  believe  in  just  a  plain  simple  God,  and 
think  that  if  they  do  right  God  will  be  easy  to 
please.  They  marry  as  many  as  four  wives, 
and  think  they  are  happy.  When  one  is  di- 
vorced she  is  kept  by  the  tribe.  Morally  they 
are  of  the  highest  type.  They  don't  inter- 
marry with  colored  slaves.  They  seldom,  if 
ever,  marry  out  of  their  tribes.  A  Bedouin 
girl  could  not,  or  would  not,  marry  the  tribe's 
blacksmith,  because  of  the  disgrace  of  marry- 
ing a  man  who  works  for  his  living. 

The  Bedouin  women  are  much  like  the 
squaws  of  the  American  Indians.  They  are 
seldom  seen  unless  when  packing  the  camels  at 
moving  time.  They  disfigure  their  faces  by 
tattooing,  and  all  of  them  stain  the  lips  blue, 
which  is  a  sign  of  beauty.  Though  they  have 
to  do  the  cooking  they  are  never  seen  around 
the  tents.  The  men  stroll  here  and  there  as  if 
they  belonged  to  some  great  club,  which  in  a 
way  they  do.  Their  Sheikh's  tent  is  their  club 
and  there  they  go  and  come  at  will.     There 

[  242  ] 


THE  BEDOUIX  OF  THE  DESERT 

they  sip  black  bitter  coffee  and  talk  about 
horses.  They  have  great  reverence  for  the 
owner  of  a  celebrated  mare,  and  when  such  a 
man  enters  a  tent,  those  present  rise,  not  in 
honor  of  him,  but  of  the  mare.  Wars  are 
commonly  started  with  another  tribe  to  get 
possession  of  a  mare  whose  blood  they  want. 


Camels  for  the  Royal  Daughters. 

I  do  not  think  the  Bedouin  is  much  of  a 
horseman,  aside  from  being  a  great  rider.  He 
is  kind,  and  has  much  patience,  but  his  horse- 
shoeing, which  is  the  most  aAvful  in  the  world, 
proves  he  isn't  a  real  horseman. 

[  -^3  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

In  judging  his  horses  he  is  different  from 
the  average  man,  and  I  think  his  theory  is  one 
of  the  best.  The  Bedouins  we  met  laughed 
over  the  few  Europeans  they  had  seen  coming 
to  buy  staUions  for  the  various  European  gov- 
ernments. These  men,  they  said,  instead  of 
looking  at  the  horse's  head,  looked  first  at  his 
feet  and  ankles.  They  could  not  understand 
that.  If  they  were  going  to  trust  me  with 
their  purses  and,  what  was  more,  their  life, 
they  declared  they  would  look  first,  for  twen- 
ty minutes,  in  my  face  and  eyes  and  not  pay 
so  much  attention  to  my  feet.  While  it  was, 
of  course,  understood  that  a  horse's  legs  and 
feet  should  be  perfect,  still  a  horse  showed 
even  what  his  legs  were  made  of  by  his  head 
and  no  horse  was  ever  better  or  worse  than 
what  his  head  showed.  They  defied  me  to  pick 
out  one  of  the  distinguished  war  mares  that 
did  not  show  her  distinctive  characteristics 
more  plainly  in  her  head  than  in  the  rest  of 
her  makeup.     And  I  found  they  were  right. 

Horseflesh  and  horse-lore  are  the  same  the 
world  over,  after  all.  After  returning  to  this 
country  I  told  Mr.  James  R.  Keene,  the  great- 
est of  our  turfmen,  of  the  Bedouin  method  and 

[244] 


THE  BEDOUIN  OF  THE  DESERT 

he  said  that  he  followed  it  himself.  He  told 
me  that  for  years  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
picking  out,  as  the  most  likely  of  his  colts  and 
fiUies,  those  which  had  the  best  heads,  and  he 
added  that  he  had  seldom  been  deceived.  The 
heads  showed  better  than  the  heels  of  what  stuff 
the  youngsters  were  made. 

I  found  out  from  observation  and  experi- 
ence, that  whatever  the  Bedouin  tells  one  about 
his  horse,  and  of  the  horse's  character,  you 
generally  find  to  be  true.  I  had  no  oppor- 
tunity of  judging  the  truth  of  the  statement, 
that  when  they  are  in  war  for  three  days  the 
horse  is  better  on  the  third  day  than  on  the 
first,  but  I  did  see  that  on  the  third  day  a  small 
Abeyeh  Sherrakieh  mare,  carrying  Arthur 
Moore  and  his  weight,  carried  him  easier  than 
she  did  on  the  first  day. 

In  looking  back  at  that  summer  trip  in  the 
desert  I  should  say  that  we  learned  more  than 
anything  else  to  take  things  as  they  come.  Of 
course  we  could  not  have  done  otherwise,  but 
at  least  we  learned  not  to  complain — too 
much.  In  our  general  American  life  we  com- 
plain if  we  are  asked  to  eat  off  a  table-cloth 
which  has  once  been  used.  We  rather  object 
to  drinking  from  a  glass  of  water  if  another 

[  245  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

person  has  drank  a  sup  from  the  same  glass. 
We  sometimes  complain  at  hotels  because  the 
sheets  are  not  changed  more  than  twice  a  week, 
but  all  this  bluff  disappears  quickly  when  we 
have  borne  the  hardships  of  the  desert  in  the 
summer  time.  There  we  found  ourselves  shov- 
ing a  camel's  head  to  one  side  so  that  we  could 
drink  the  riled  muddy  alkali  water  from  a  pool ; 
we  thought  nothing  of  being  the  last,  after 
twenty  Bedouins  had  drunk  out  of  a  wooden 
bowl  of  sour  milk.  After  you  have  eaten  two 
weeks  with  your  hands,  knives  and  forks  seem 
awkward.  You  can,  in  fact,  pick  out  with 
more  accuracy  and  speed  a  choice  piece  of  mut- 
ton with  your  fingers  than  you  can  with  a 
spoon,  and  this  means  something  when  you  are 
squatting  round  a  meal  with  thirty  Bedouins 
each  with  as  long  a  reach  as  Fitzsimmons. 

We  learned  to  ride  all  day  in  the  heat  and 
perhaps  part  of  the  night  and  then  be  glad 
to  lie  down  in  a  Bedouin's  bed  a  minute  after 
he  had  climbed  out  of  it,  and  we  ate  with  zest 
from  the  same  mound  of  rice  as  the  rest  of  the 
tribe.  After  all,  the  desert  is  the  great  leveler 
and  it  shows  us  how  trivial  and  artificial  we 
are  in  some  ways  in  our  civilized  life. 

[246] 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   ARAB   HORSE   AND    HIS    PRESENT   STATUS- 
SOME  STORIES  FROM  THE  DESERT. 


There  has  been  a  great  deal  of  speculation 
as  to  where  the  Arab  horse  originally  came 
from.  He  has  been  the  subject  of  myth  and 
fiction  and  tradition  for  so  long  that  the  truth 
about  him  is  hard  to  ascertain.  He  has  been 
dated  as  far  back  as  ]\It.  Ararat  by  writers  who 
gravely  state  that  he  and  his  companions 
walked  off  Noah's  Ark  and  began  to  breed 
and  multiply  in  the  general  region  where  he  is 
now  found.  We  are  past  the  Ark  age,  how- 
ever, and  after  all  it  makes  little  difference  to 
the  modern  reader  to  know  the  exact  origin  of 
the  Arab  horse  as  long  as  he  is  what  he  is. 

The  Arab  horse  is  a  type  by  himself.  He  is 
distinctly  different  from  all  other  horseflesh, 
not  only  in  the  formation  of  his  bone  structure, 
but  in  his  temperament.  He  stands  alone.  It 
has  been  thought  by  many  that  there  are  t\^o 

X  247  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

breeds  of  Arab  horses — a  large  and  a  small, 
but  that  is  incorrect.  There  is  but  one  general 
breed,  and  this  breed  is  subdivided  into  many 
families,  all  of  which  are  different  and  dis- 
tinct. All  the  families  are  descended  from 
certain  great  historic  mares. 

Among  the  Bedouins  all  the  emphasis  is 
placed  upon  the  maternal  line.  As  long  as 
the  sire  of  a  horse  is  known  to  be  "Chubby" 
(meaning  a  thoroughbred  from  which  an 
Anezeh  would  be  willing  to  breed),  he  is  of 
little  account.  The  colt  gets  its  value  from 
the  blood  of  the  mother.  That  seems  curious, 
too,  in  a  country  where  women  are  very  little 
more  than  slaves. 

Ill-advised  supporters  of  the  Arab  horse  in 
this  country  have  brought  him  into  a  great 
amount  of  criticism  by  trying  to  show  that  he 
is  a  racer  in  our  sense  of  the  word.  In  our 
sense  of  the  word!  Thank  heaven  he  is  not. 
The  average  American  race-horse  of  to-day  ( I 
yield  to  no  one  in  my  admiration  of  such  splen- 
did animals  which  men  like  James  R.  Keene 
breed)  exists  simply  that  bookmakers  and 
gamblers  may  "earn"  a  living  by  robbing  the 
ignorant  and  gullible  of  money  they  cannot  af- 
ford to  lose. 

[248] 


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MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

Race-tracks  to-day  are  kept  alive  for  that 
one  purpose.  The  methods  of  the  bookmakers 
are  almost  as  sure  as  those  employed  by  a  man 
who  throws  a  gun  into  your  face  and  asks  you 
to  throw  up  your  hands.  There  is  no  escape 
for  him.  Even  the  honest  men  who  race  their 
horses  for  sport  are  his  tools  without  know- 
ing it. 

The  Arab  IS  a  racer,  but  he  wins  through 
his  endurance.  To  criticise  him  because  he 
is  not  the  equal,  in  short  dashes,  of  the  horses 
we  have  bred  from  him,  is  utterly  unjust.  To 
condemn  him  because  he  does  not  lend  himself 
to  the  uses  of  the  gambler  is  surely  high  praise. 

Yet  not  only  the  modern  race-horse,  but  his 
brothers  of  a  more  useful  type,  owe  a  large 
part  of  what  they  possess  of  speed,  endurance 
and  intelligence  to  the  Arab.  The  importa- 
tion into  England  of  the  Darley  Arab  (see  ap- 
pendix) ,  and  the  Godolphin  Arab  or  Barb  (no 
one  ever  knew  which  he  really  was) ,  marked  a 
new  era  in  horse-breeding.  From  them  and 
their  progenitors  came  most  of  what  is  best 
in  our  horses  the  world  over.  The  Arab  blood 
is  to  be  found  in  the  Percheron;  it  gives  his 
distinction  to  the  Russian  Orloff,  that  most 
useful  of  horses,  and  it  is  dominant  in  the  Han- 

[  250  ] 


STATUS  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

overian,  French  and  German  cavalry  horse,  not 
to  speak  of  some  of  the  best  types  produced  in 
England. 

Is  he  to  be  condemned  then  simply  because 
the  only  things  he  shows  are  intelligence, 
power,  beauty,  a  distinct  type  of  real  poetic 
individuality  and  honesty  and  because  he  lacks 
extreme  speed  for  the  short  distances  which 
gamblers  of  the  present  time  have  set,  that  they 
may  fleece  the  always  unsuspecting  public  ? 

I  have  pressed  the  Arab  horse  into  all  kinds 
of  service,  and,  in  his  home  on  the  desert,  I 
have  seen  him  accomplish  in  the  matter  of 
weight-carrying,  tests  that  I  would  not  have 
believed  he  could  have  performed.  In  my 
home  I  have  seen  him  on  the  carriage  working 
as  honestly,  and  as  faithfully,  as  any  horse  that 
was  ever  hitched,  although  his  ancestors  knew 
no  collars.  I  have  seen  two  Arab  stallions 
driven  together  by  a  child,  in  safety.  His  ene- 
mies will  cry  that  he  is  small — that  he  is  a  pony, 
but  that  the  Arab  horse,  in  his  native  country, 
stands  close  to  fourteen  hands  and  two  inches 
I  have  found  from  the  examination  of  hun- 
dreds of  them.  As  a  matter  of  fact  his  size  is 
merely  a  question  of  the  feed  given  him  when 
he  is  a  colt,  which  is  shown  by  the  fact  that 

[251] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

among  the  Gomussa  tribe  of  the  Sebaa  Anezeh, 
who  pay  better  attention  to  their  horses  than 
others,  we  found  colts  of  two  years  standing 
fifteen  hands  high.  At  the  Circassian  villages 
on  the  Euphrates,  where  they  take  even  better 
care  of  their  live  stock  than  the  Bedouins,  we 
found  the  Arab  horse  much  advanced  in  size. 

When  you  see  the  method  of  his  rearing  in 
the  desert  you  come  quickly  to  one  conclusion. 
Instead  of  being  a  small  horse,  he  is,  in  reality, 
the  biggest  horse  known,  when  you  consider 
the  hardships  which  he  goes  through  from  the 
day  he  is  born.  From  the  first  he  is  hobbled 
from  fore  foot  to  hind  foot,  and  from  fore  feet 
and  hind  feet  to  pins  driven  in  the  ground. 
In  that  way  he  spends  his  entire  life  when  not 
under  the  saddle.  His  feed  consists  of  a  nose- 
bag full  of  dusty,  dirty  chaff  and  ground-up 
wheat  and  barley  straw  which  has  been 
threshed  by  the  hoofs  of  cattle  and  donkeys 
treading  over  it  as  wheat  was  threshed  in  the 
days  of  Abraham.  This  dusty,  dirty  chaff  is 
all  he  ever  gets  in  the  way  of  hay;  and  that, 
with  a  nosebag  of  barley,  constitutes  his  daily 
rations. 

I  am  speaking  now  of  horses  reared  by  the 
best  tribes.    They  are  watered  only  once  a  day, 

[252] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

and  the  water  is  a  strong  alkali  lime  mixture, 
which  is,  possibly,  accountable  for  the  great 
bone  of  the  Arab  horse,  so  finely  exhibited  in 
the  skeleton  of  the  great  "Marengo,"  Napo- 
leon's war  horse  captured  on  the  battlefields  at 
Waterloo.  They  are  never  taken  in  under 
shelter  from  the  sun,  neither  are  they  protect- 


Showing  the  solid  steel  shoe  with  small  hole  in  center. 

ed  from  the  storms  of  winter  other  than  by  a 
flannel  blanket.  The  Bedouins  ride  them  at 
two  years  old,  and  sometimes  take  them  into 
war  at  three.  They  are  shod  by  the  so-called 
blacksmiths  of  the  desert,  who,  in  reality,  are 
criminals,  and  ought  to  be  shot.     The  frog  of 

[  254  ] 


STATUS  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

the  horse's  foot  is  practically  cut  out  and  then, 
with  a  didze,  the  hoof  is  made  to  fit  the  shoe, 
which  is  a  solid  piece  of  oval  steel,  having  a 
small  hole  in  the  center.  These  shoes  are 
nailed  on  with  big  nails. 

Horses  fed  on  this  kind  of  food,  some- 
times going  from  twenty- four  to  forty- 
eight  hours  without  feed  or  water  and  still 
able  to  gallop  hour  after  hour,  and  day  after 
day,  without  collapse,  must  have  great  powers 
of  endurance. 

In  disposition  the  Arab  horses  are  gentle 
and  very  affectionate.  They  will  scratch  their 
heads  and  necks  on  you  just  as  they  would  on 
a  hitching  post.  They  seem  to  have  no  fear 
of  anything,  not  even  of  man.  We  did  see 
several  instances  where  mares  of  the  desert, 
which  had  never  seen  white  people  before,  ob- 
jected to  our  coming  close  to  them.  But  that 
was  not  really  fear.  Some  people  believe  that 
the  Arab  horse  is  a  wild  ferocious  animal ;  that 
he  is  almost  untameable  and  that  he  is  captured 
on  the  desert  with  the  greatest  difficulty,  but 
the  most  ignorance  is  shown  as  to  his  color 
In  1905,  while  exhibiting  four  stallions  at  the 
Lew^is  &  Clark  Exposition,  in  Portland,  Ore- 
gon,  I  had  many   opportunities  of  observing 

[  255  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

this  ignorance.  One  lady  was  very  much  sur- 
prised at  seeing  bay,  gray  and  chestnut  horses 
shown. 

"All  the  Arabs  I  have  ever  seen  working  on 
hearses,"  she  said,  "were  coal  and  black." 

Another  declared  that  her  father  had  bred 
Arab  horses  as  long  as  she  could  remember  and 
that  instead  of  being  small  they  were  large 
and  spotted  like  leopards,  with  long  flowing 
manes  and  tails.  Another  woman,  who 
claimed  to  have  been  the  secretary  to  General 
Colby,  of  Beatrice,  Nebraska  (the  gentleman 
who  owned  the  Grant  stallions  at  the  time  of 
their  death),  said: 

"For  more  than  twelve  years  I  rode  the 
Grant  stallions  every  day;  I  am  quite 
astonished  to  see  horses  shown  as  Arab  horses 
that  are  bay.  I  supposed  all  Arab  horses  were 
exactly  like  the  two  presented  to  General 
Grant,  snow  white,  with  pink  skin  and  blue 
eyes." 

Circuses  are,  perhaps,  more  to  blame  for  the 
misrepresentations  of  the  Arab  horse  than 
anything  else.  I  have  a  friend  who  owns  a 
circus,  and  I  saw  his  posters  a  few  years  ago, 
claiming  that  he  was  exhibiting  the  only  Arab 

[256] 


STATUS  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

horses  ever  brought  to  America.  He  said  they 
were  captured  with  great  difficulty  and 
brought  to  New  York  by  a  special  permit  of 
the  Sultan ;  that  they  were  of  the  family  known 
in  history  as  the  Eagle  Feather  Horses,  so 
much  prized  in  the  Queen  of  Sheba's  daj^s ;  that 
they  were  snow  white  with  black  spots.  I  had 
but  a  few  years  before  told  my  circus  friend 
where  he  could  find  one  of  these  alleged  eagle- 
spotted  Arab  horses,  at  Albany,  Oregon,  at 
which  place,  I  believe,  he  purchased  it. 

How  the  tradition  arose  that  the  Arab  horse 
is  spotted,  is  difficult  to  imagine.  The  pure 
Arab  is  never  spotted.  That  color  only  comes 
from  the  crossing  of  different  breeds  and  that  is 
a  thing  which  is  never  done  in  the  desert. 
Among  the  Anezeh,  bay  is  the  most  common 
color,  and  white  horses,  though  very  fashion- 
able in  the  desert,  are  very  rare.  During  our 
entire  travels  I  only  saw  one  pure  white  mare, 
a  Maneghieh  Sbeyel,  which  I  purchased.  The 
skin  round  her  eves  and  nostrils  was  of  a  dark 
blackish  blue,  and  her  head  was  of  extreme 
beauty.  Out  of  a  hundred  mares  among  the 
Anezeh,  you  would  find  thirty-five  bays,  thirty 
grays,  fifteen  chestnuts,  and  the  rest  brown. 

I  saw  only  one  that  I  would  call  a  black 

[257]^ 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

horse,  and  that  was  a  Maneghi  Hedruj,  of  a 
very  small  size.  Roans,  spotted  or  piebalds 
and  yellows  are  not  found  among  the  Arabian 
horses,  though  roans  and  yellows  are  common 
among  the  Barbs.  The  bays  often  have  black 
points  and  generally  white  feet,  with  some 
white  in  the  face.  The  chestnuts  vary  from 
the  brightest  to  the  dullest  shades. 

The  Gomussa,  of  the  Sebaa  Anezeh,  are  the 
shrewdest  horse-breeders  of  the  desert,  and  are 
so  recognized  even  by  their  enemies.  They 
have  kept  in  the  largest  numbers,  specimens 
of  the  five  families  which  are  called  the  Kham- 
seh.  They  also  have  the  choicest  of  the 
sixteen  other  families  which  are  rated  equal 
in  point  of  blood.  The  Khamseh,  according 
to  legend,  descend  from  the  five  mares  which, 
with  other  mares  of  King  Solomon,  were 
drinking  at  a  river  after  a  hard  battle,  when 
the  trumpet  blew,  calling  them  back  to  the  con- 
flict. Only  five  responded  to  the  call.  It  was 
these  five  which  founded  the  five  great  families, 
of  which  the  first  is: 

1 — The  Kehilan  Ajuz.  This  strain  is 
numerous,  and  from  it  all  other  Kehilans  are 
offshoots.  The  words  Kehilan  Ajuz  mean  "the 
mare  of  the  old  woman,"  and  of  course  they 

[  258  ] 


STATUS  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

have  a  story  which  is  this:  A  traveler  riding 
a  very  fine  mare,  stopped  near  the  middle  of 
the  day  at  a  well  owned  by  an  old  woman  and 
asked  permission  to  water  his  mount.  While 
the  mare  was  drinking  she  was  giving  birth  to 
a  filly  colt.  The  traveler,  being  hard  pressed 
for  time,  gave  the  colt  to  the  old  woman,  so 
that  she  could  care  for  it  and  rear  it,  if  possible, 
on  the  camel's  and  sheep's  milk.  The  rider 
proceeded  on  his  way  and  rode  steadily  until 
dark,  when  he  stopped  in  the  open  plain  for 
the  night. 

At  daylight  he  was  astonished  beyond  meas- 
ure to  find  that  the  colt  he  had  left  with  the 
old  woman,  although  but  a  few  hours  old,  and 
having  never  really  seen  its  mother,  had 
made  its  escape  and  had  tracked  her 
across  the  desert,  and  was  there  by  her  side, 
nursing.  Thus  came  the  name.  Among  the 
Kehilans,  ba^s  are  more  numerous  than  those 
of  any  other  color.  They  are  the  fastest  of 
Arab  horses,  though  not  the  hardiest,  nor  the 
most  beautiful  by  any  means.  They  bear  a 
close  resemblance  to  the  English  thorough- 
breds to  which  they  are  nearly  related.  The 
Darley  Arab,  perhaps  the  only  thoroughbred 

[259]- 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

Anezeh  horse  in  our  stud  books,  was  a  Kehilan 
of  the  sub-family  called  Ras-el-Fadawi. 

2 — The  Seglawi  Family.  This  family 
descends  from  four  great  mares  owned  by  a 
man  of  that  name.  At  his  death  he  gave  his 
favorite  mare  to  his  favorite  brother  Jedran, 
and  thus  the  Seglawi  Jedrans  are  the  favorites 
of  the  Seglawis.  He  gave  the  second  mare 
to  his  brother  Obeyran;  the  third  to  Arjebi, 
and  the  fourth  to  El-Abd,  meaning  the  slave. 
Many  writers  consider  that  all  four  mares  were 
full  sisters.  The  Seglawi -Arjebi  are  extinct, 
and  of  the  remaining  strains,  the  Seglawi  Jed- 
ran ranks  first  in  the  esteem  of  the  Bedouins, 
while  the  Seglawi-el-Abd  come  second.  Some 
years  ago  Abbas  Pasha,  Khedive  of  Egypt, 
purchased  nearly  all  of  the  Seglawieh  Jed- 
ranieh  mares  from  the  Anezeh  tribe,  paying  as 
high,  so  they  told  me,  as  £3,000  for  a  single 
old  mare. 

3 — Hamdani.  The  Hamdanis  are  not 
common  anywhere  in  the  desert,  the  Shammar 
being  supposed  to  have  the  best.  They  are 
mostly  grays,  though  very  handsome  browns 
and  chestnuts  are  to  be  found  among  the 
Shammar.  The  only  strain  of  the  Hamdani 
which  are  counted  "Chubby"  are  the  Hamdani 

[  260  ] 


STATUS  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

Simri,  and  while  the  Hamdani  Jassel  were  fre- 
quently met  by  us,  they  were  not  considered 
*' Chubby"  by  the  Anezeh.  The  fastest  walk- 
ing mare  I  ever  saw  was  a  Hamdanieh  Simrieh 
filly  that  was  ridden  into  the  desert  by  Akmet 
Haffez.  She  came  originally  from  the  Sham- 
mar,  and  was  later  purchased  by  me  and 
brought  to  America.  She  was  a  dark  bay  four 
years  old.  I  believe  that  in  a  walking  con- 
test, with  the  best  walkers  that  could  be  found 
in  the  country,  she  would  be  five  miles  ahead  of 
them  at  night. 

Sheikh  Ali,  of  the  Abou  Goumese  tribe,  told 
me  of  the  meaning  of  the  name  Hamdani  Sim- 
ri, and  the  reason  why  the  strain  was  more  pop- 
ular now,  and  yet  rarer  than  the  Seglawi  Jed- 
ran.  He  said  that  once  the  Anezeh  tribe  had 
a  great  mare,  a  bay  Seglawieh  Jedranieh. 
She  was  so  fast  that  nothing  could  catch  her. 
Once,  a  few  weeks  before  she  was  to  foal,  she 
slipped  her  hobbles  and  fled  to  the  open  desert. 
They  went  after  her,  but  she  could  not  be 
caught,  and  finally,  when  her  colt  came  he  was 
afraid  of  men  and  ran  away  and  the  mother 
followed  the  colt.  The  tribe  offered  rewards, 
but  none  could  catch  her.  All  of  the  various 
strains  tried,  Kehilan  after  Kehilan,   but   all 

[261] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

failed.  In  the  long  run  a  man  named  Simri, 
who  owned  some  horses  of  the  Hamdani  breed, 
came  with  a  big  horse  with  full  round  belly 
and  offered  to  catch  the  mare  and  colt.  The 
Anezeh  laughed  at  him.  The  horse  had  to  be 
beaten  to  make  him  even  walk  fast.  But  the 
man  insisted  to  be  allowed  to  try  and  the  sec- 
ond day  the  horse  went  better  and  began  to 
show  spirit.  Finally  the  Anezeh  took  the  man 
to  the  place  where  the  mare  went  daily  to  drink 
and  told  him  to  trv  his  luck.  At  noon  the 
mare  and  her  colt  came  and  when  the  latter 
saw  the  horse,  and  the  people,  he  fled.  The 
Hamdani,  to  the  surprise  of  all,  gave  quick 
chase  and  in  four  hours  the  colt  was  captured 
and  bound.  Three  hours  after,  the  mare  was 
captured,  and  from  that  time  the  breed  was 
known  as  the  Hamdani  Simri,  and  since  that 
day  has  been  the  favorite  over  the  Seglawi 
Jedran. 

4 — Abeyan.  The  Abeyan  is  the  handsom- 
est of  the  five  breeds,  but  is  small  and  has  less 
resemblance  to  the  English  thoroughbreds 
than  any  of  the  other  families.  The  Abeyan 
Sherrak  is  the  most  esteemed  of  the  seven 
strains  of  the  Abeyan,  there  being  but  two 
others  of  that  seven,  the  Abeyan  Zahaine  and 

[  262  ] 


STATUS  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

the  Abeyan  Fadaha,  which  are  counted  "Chub- 
by." The  name  Abeyan  is  derived  from  the 
word  "Aba"  (cloak),  and  comes  from  the  fol- 
lowing incident :  A  certain  Arab,  probably  of 
the  name  of  Sherrak,  being  pursued  in  war, 
lost  his  way  just  as  night  was  coming  on.  He 
believed  that  his  mare  could  run  all  night  and 
save  him  from  his  pursuers,  but  fearful  that 
his  heavy  Aba,  or  cloak,  might  hinder  her 
stride,  he  loosened  it,  and  throwing  it  off  over 
his  shoulders  thought  he  noticed  that  during 
the  remainder  of  the  night  the  mare  ran 
steadier  and  more  smoothly.  The  mare  easily 
outstripped  his  pursuers,  but  when  daylight 
came  Sherrak  found  that  his  cloak  had  not 
been  lost.  It  had  been  caught  by  the  mare's 
tail,  which  is  carried  higher  by  this  breed  than 
in  any  other  family  of  Arab  horses. 

5 — Hadban.  There  are  five  strains  of  the 
Hadban  family.  The  Hadban  Enzekhi  is  the 
favorite,  and  the  Hadban  al-Fert  is  the  only 
other  that  is  considered  "Chubby"  by  the 
Anezeh.  The  Gomussa  of  the  Sebaa  Anezeh 
are  supposed  to  have  the  best  of  the  breed. 
Browns  and  dark  bays  are  the  favorite  colors 
of  the  Hadban  Enzekhi,  and  a  mare  and  filly 

[  263  ]  ^ 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

colt  twenty  days  old,  which  I  bought,  were  the 
finest  specimens  we  saw. 

Besides  these    ^ve    families,  there  are  six- 
teen other  breeds  which  are  counted  as  equal 
to  the  Khamseh.     First  is  the  Maneghi,  sup- 
posed to  be  an  offshoot  of  the  Kehilan  Ajuz. 
The  characteristics  of  this  breed  are  marked. 
They  are  plain  and  without  distinction,  being 
somewhat  coarser  with  longer  necks,  powerful 
shoulders,  much  length,  and  strong  but  coarse 
hind  quarters.     They  are  strong-boned,    and 
are  held  in  high  repute  as  war  horses.     There 
are  four  families,  the  favorite  being  Maneghi 
Sbeyel,  which  is  regarded  "Chubby"   all  over 
the  desert.     Maneghi  Hedruj,  the  next  es- 
teemed, was  not  counted  "Chubby"  at  Nejd, 
but  was  by  some  tribes  of  the  northern  desert. 
The  brown  stallion  "Halep,"  which  was  my 
present  from  the  Governor  of  Aleppo,  and  was 
looked  upon  as  the  best  stallion  the  Anezeh 
owned,  is  a  Maneghi  Sbeyel,  dark  brown  with- 
out a  white  hair.     His    mother,    his    grand- 
mother, his  great-grandmother  indeed,  all  his 
maternal  ancestors  for  two  hundred  years  had 
been  the  spectacular  war  mares  of  their  time. 
The  other  breeds  are  as  follows: 

Second — Saadan,     often     very     beautiful 

[  264  ] 


STATUS  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

horses,  with  the  substrain  Saadan  Togan  as 
the  most  highly  esteemed. 

Third — Dakhman. 

Fourth — Shuevman. 

Fifth — Jilfan.  The  substrain  Jilfan  Stam 
el  Bulad  is  in  some  parts  of  the  desert  prized 
equally  with  Hamdani  Simri. 

Sixth — Toessan. 

Seventh — Samhan.  (Substrain  Samhan  el 
Gomussa.  The  horses  of  this  family  are  fre- 
quently very  tall,  and  are  much  esteemed.) 

Eighth — Wadnan.  ( Substrain  Wadna 
Hursan. ) 

Ninth — Rishan.  (Substrain  Rishan  Sher- 
abi.  Of  these  we  saw  many  very  beautiful 
grays.) 

Tenth — Tamri.  (The  Kehilan  Tamris  are 
highly  prized,  and  the  bay  two-year-old  we 
bought  of  this  family  is  a  picture. ) 

Eleventh — Melekhan. 

Twelfth — Jereyban. 

Thirteenth — Jeytani. 

Fourteenth — Fere  Jan. 

Fifteenth— Treyfi. 

Sixteenth — Rabdan. 

Besides  these,  there  are  the  Kehilan  Heife, 
Kehilan  Kroash,  Kehilan  al-Denais,  Kehilan 

[  265  ]  ~ 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

al-Nowak  and  the  Kehilan  al-Muson,  or  the 
Hstening  horses.  This  latter  family  descends 
from  a  mare  that,  so  the  story  goes,  once  stood 
motionless  all  day  in  the  desert,  listening.  The 
Bedouins  came  around  and  looked  at  her  with 
awe.  There  was  no  question  that  she  heard 
something  in  the  distance.  They  finally  took 
off  her  hobbles,  and  she  ran  about  in  circles 
and  then  stopped  and  snorted.  Again  she 
stood  still  and  hstened,  first  with  one  ear  for- 
ward and  then  with  the  other.  They  brought 
a  nosebag  with  barley  and  put  it  on  her  head. 
From  this  she  would  take  a  mouthful  and  then 
pause  for  a  minute  or  two,  still  listening.  The 
Bedouins  could  not  tell  from  what  direction 
the  sound  she  evidently  heard  came  from. 
They  thought  it  might  be  a  message  from 
Allah. 

The  same  night  one  of  the  most  awful 
massacres  recorded  in  desert  history  took  place, 
and  more  than  half  the  men  of  the  tribes  were 
slaughtered.  From  that  time  the  descendants 
of  the  listening  mare  have  been  venerated. 

While  there  are  not  two  distinct  breeds  of 
horses  in  the  desert,  there  are,  however,  a  first 
and  second  class.  A  horse,  or  mare,  about 
whose  breeding  there  is  the  slightest  doubt,  is 

[266] 


STATUS  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

of  the  second  class,  and  is  not  called  "Chub- 
by." Even  horses  taken  in  war,  previous  to 
ten  years  ago,  would  not  have  been  called 
"Chubbv."  In  all  cases  the  breed  of  the  colt 
is  that  of  its  dam,  and  not  of  its  sire.  A  colt 
whose  father  is  a  Hamdani  Simri,  and  whose 
dam  is  a  Seglawieh  Jedranieh,  would  neces- 
sarily be  a  Seglawi  Jedran. 

The  Arab  in  his  purity  is  a  horse  of  the  high- 
est courage.  In  stature,  as  I  have  said  before, 
he  stands  fourteen  hands  and  two  inches  high 
and  is  more  often  a  little  under  than  over  that. 
He  is  a  very  perfect  animal;  he  is  not  large 
here  and  small  there.  There  is  a  balance  and 
harmony  throughout  his  frame  not  seen  in  any 
other  horse.  He  is  the  quintessence  of  all 
good  qualities  in  a  compact  form. 

The  beauty  of  his  head,  ears,  eyes,  jaw, 
mouth  and  nostrils  should  be  seen  to  be  ap- 
preciated. The  ears  are  not  small,  but  are  so 
perfectly  shaped  that  they  appear  small.  The 
head  is  short  from  the  eye  to  the  muzzle  and 
broad  and  well  developed  above.  The  eye  is 
peculiarly  soft  and  intelHgent  with  a  sparkle 
characteristic  of  the  breed.  Yet  when  it  hghts 
up  with  excitement  it  does  not  have  the 
strained  wild  look,  and  pained,  staring  expres- 

[  267  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

sion  often  seen  in  European  horses.  The  nos- 
trils, long  and  puckered,  are  drawn  back  and 
are  capable  of  great  distention.  The  neck  is 
a  model  of  strength  and  forms  a  perfect  arch 
that  matches  the  arch  of  his  tail.  The  throat 
is  particularly  large  and  well  developed.  It  is 
loose  and  pliant  when  at  rest,  and  much  de- 
tached from  the  rest  of  the  neck.  This  fea- 
ture is  not  often  noticed,  though  it  is  indica- 
tive not  only  of  good  wind,  but  of  prolonged 
exertion  without  distress,  owing  to  the  great 
width  between  the  jaws.  The  two  great  fea- 
tures, possibly,  that  a  novice  would  notice 
quickest  in  the  Arab  horse,  is  the  forehead,  or 
jibbah,  which  cannot  be  too  prominent,  and  the 
other  is  the  tail  set  high  and  carried  in  an  arch. 
The  build  of  the  Arab  is  perfect.  It  is  es- 
sentially that  of  utility.  The  space  for  the 
seat  of  the  rider  at  once  fixes  his  true  position 
and  his  weight  is  carried  on  that  part  of  the 
frame  most  adapted  for  it.  If  he  be  careful- 
ly examined  it  will  be  found  that  all  the 
muscles  and  limbs  of  progression  are  better 
placed  and  longer  in  him  than  in  any  other 
horse.  Nature,  when  she  made  the  Arab, 
made  no  mistake,  and  man  has  not  yet  been 
able  to  spoil  him. 

[268] 


CHAPTER  XXI 

VARIOUS  IMPORTATIONS  OF  ARAB  HORSES 

Many  importations  of  Arab  horses  have 
been  made  out  of  the  desert  since  Darley's 
came  to  England  in  1703.  Some,  of  course, 
were  not  the  best  blood ;  but,  to  say  that  there 
have  been  no  thoroughbreds  brought  out  of 
the  desert,  would  be  as  preposterous  a  state- 
ment as  to  say  that  the  only  known  thorough- 
breds of  the  Arab  blood  were  to  be  found  on 
someone's  private  estate. 

Of  modern  importations,  I  believe  those  of 
]VIr.  Wilfrid  and  Lady  Anne  Blunt,  owing  to 
their  extensive  travels  in  the  desert,  have  been 
as  good  as  any.  Many  of  their  choicest  mares 
were  purchased  in  towns  and  not  in  the  desert, 
but  their  knowledge  of  the  breed  is  extensive 
and  they  could  not  be  deceived. 

Many  Arab  horses  have  been  brought  to 
America  and  credit  must  be  given  to  the  late 
A.  Keene  Richards  who,  in  1855,  or  1856,  went 

[  269  ] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

from  his  home  in  Kentucky  to  Palmyra,  and 
brought  three  stalhons  and  two  mares.  Mr. 
Richards  bred  his  stalhons  extensively  and  one 
of  their  get,  "Sabek,"  was  bought  by  Mr. 
Aymar  Van  Buren,  of  Newburgh,  N.  Y.  Mr. 
Van  Buren  brought  the  half  Arab  to  New- 
burgh, where  he  sired  a  great  many  very  fast 
and  tough  road  horses  with  extra  endurance. 

For  many  years  in  the  meantime,  Mr.  Ran- 
dolph Huntington,  of  Oyster  Bay,  had  been  a 
student  of  the  Arab  horse.  Mr.  Huntington 
was  the  breeder  of  Henry  Clay,  and  still  main- 
tains much  of  that  blood  on  his  farm.  His 
ideas,  however,  were  very  different  from  those 
of  the  majority.  He  believed  in  in-breeding, 
and  considered  that  that  in  itself  was  a  test 
of  purity  of  blood.  He  bred  his  Arab  mare 
"Naomi,"  which  was  bred  bv  the  Rev.  F.  F. 
Vidal,  in  England,  to  her  son,  and  grandson. 
That  cross  did  not  strike  the  fancy  of  the 
American  horse-breeders,  and  Mr.  Hunting- 
ton and  the  horse-breeders  of  America  have 
long  been  at  war.  Indeed  his  efforts  so  far  as 
they  were  intended  to  demonstrate  what  the 
Arab  horse  can  do  in  America,  have  been  a 
failure. 

Several  horses  have    been    imported    into 

[270] 


IMPORTATIOXS  OF  ARAB  HORSES 

America  from  the  Blmits.  The  best  staUion 
of  the  lot  was  a  small  white  Dahman  Shah  wan, 
an  imported  horse  brought  from  Abbas  Pasha 
in  Cairo  by  the  Blunts,  and  sold  later  to  Mr. 
J.  A.  P.  Ramsdell,  of  Xewburgh,  N.  Y.  But 
after  he  had  sired  one  j)ure  Arab  filly  out  of 
the  gray  mare  "Nedjma,"  of  the  Chicago 
World's  Fair  importation  of  1893,  he  died. 

To  the  World's  Columbian  Exposition,  at 
Chicago,  came  several  mares  and  stallions  from 
near  Damascus,  under  a  special  permit  of  the 
Sultan  of  Turkey.  By  the  direction  of  the 
Sultan,  the  so-called  Hip2)odrome  Company, 
which  imported  the  horses,  was  to  return  to  the 
desert  after  the  fair  was  closed.  But  that  was 
never  done.  The  company  became  entangled 
in  debt,  and  eventually  the  horses  were  sold  at 
public  auction,  most  of  them  being  bought  in 
by  the  holders  of  a  mortgage.  Previous  to  the 
foreclosure,  through  a  religious  wrangle,  nine 
of  the  verv  finest  horses  and  mares  were  burned 
to  death  in  an  incendiary  fire,  together  with  all 
their  pedigrees  excei3t  one.  That  pedigree 
belonged  to  the  finest  animal  of  the  lot,  the 
gray  mare  called  "Nedjma."  It  was  taken  to 
California  by  a  young  Syrian,  who  hoped  to 
get  a  reward  for  its  return.     The  horses  were 

[271] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

much  abused  by  some  of  the  Arab  horse  critics 
in  America,  who  claimed  that  they  were  tram 
horses  from  Damascus;  but  as  there  are  no 
trams  in  Damascus,  the  point  was  not  very  well 
taken.  On  the  contrary  I  am  assured  on  good 
authority  that  the  World's  Fair  horses  were 
of  the  best  blood  and  that  among  them  were 
very  fine  specimens  of  the  Hamdani  Simri, 
Abeyan  Sherrak,  Seglawi  Obeira,  and  others 
of  the  recognized  breeds. 

There  is  one  noteworthy  fact  in  connection 
with  these  animals  and  that  is  that  they  are  the 
only  Arab  horses  which  ever  came  to  America, 
and  won  a  prize  in  an  open  competition  in  any 
class  at  the  recognized  horse  shows  in  America. 
Mr.  Peter  B.  Bradley,  of  Hingham,  Mass., 
who  had  bought  nearly  all  of  them,  bred  a  colt 
which  won  a  prize  in  open  competition,  at  Dur- 
land's  Horse  Show,  for  Hght-weight  saddle 
horses.  Another  yearling  colt  bred  by  Mr. 
Bradley  and  sired  by  "Obeyran,"  one  of  the 
World's  Fair  stallions,  out  of  a  mustang 
mare,  won  first  prize  in  open  competition  at 
the  New  York  State  Fair  in  1903,  beating  sev- 
eral of  the  get  of  the  best  bred  trotting  horses 
in  the  country,  while  a  bay  horse,  "Zedan," 
bred  by  Mr.  Bradley,  out  of  pure  sire  and  dam, 

[272] 


IMPORTATIONS  OF  ARAB  HORSES 

is  the  only  Arab  horse  I  have  seen  that  ever 
showed  any  real  pretence  toward  the  trotting 
gait.  This  horse  can  road  from  twelve  to  fif- 
teen miles  an  hour,  and  keep  it  up  all  day. 
Mr.  Bradlev  used  his  horses  constantly;  drove 
them  as  well  as  rode  them,  played  polo  on  them, 
and  their  performances  have  amounted  to  more 
in  the  few  years  that  he  had  them,  than  those 
of  all  the  rest  of  the  Arabs  that  ever  came  to  the 
country.  The  other  imported  horses,  up  to 
that  time,  and  for  some  years  later,  had  been 
kept  in  their  box  stalls  only  to  be  admired  as 

idle  pets. 

The  two  stallions  which  were  presented  to 
General  Grant  when  he  visited  the  royal  stables 
at  Constantinople,  were  both  grays.  Mr. 
Huntington  had  used  both  stalHons  on  his 
farm,  after  they  were  taken  to  the  Genessee 
Valley,  and  thence  to  Beatrice,  Nebraska, 
where  they  both  died.  "Leopard,"  a  light 
gray,  broke  his  leg  and  had  to  be  killed,  while 
"Linden  Tree"  lived  for  several  years  after, 
dying  in  1900.  General  Colby,  who  owned 
them  at  the  time  of  their  death,  crossed  them 
largely  with  western  mares,  and  bred  some 
very  fine  colts. 

Among  the  breeders    of    Arab    horses    in 

[  273  ] 


(( 
(( 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

America  few  have  been  more  prominent  than 
Mr.  J.  A.  P.  Ramsdell  of  Newburgh,  who 
purchased  the  finest  of  the  World's  Fair  mares 
in  "Ned j ma."  Mr.  Ramsdell  later  bought 
Garaveen,"  sired  by  the  great  racing  Arab, 
Kismet,"  out  of  "Cushdell  Bey,"  the  Rev. 
F.  F.  Vidal's  favorite  Arab  mare  in  England. 
"Garaveen"  sired  some  very  fine  types  out 
of  the  mare  "Ned j ma,"  and  also  out  of  her 
daughter  by  "Shahwan."  "Garaveen,"  at  the 
present  writing,  is  the  only  living  son  of  the 
great  and  unbeaten  "Kismet." 

For  a  number  of  ^^ears  Mr.  Spencer  Borden, 
of  Fall  River,  Mass.,  bred  Arabs.  He  had 
received  some  mares  from  the  Hon.  Miss  Dil- 
lon, of  England,  and  had  bred  from  Mr.  Hun- 
tington's stallions;  later,  purchased  from  Mr. 
Bush  Brown,  the  sculptor,  the  Russian  Arab 
"Gouinad." 

This  horse  was  brought  to  the  World's  Fair 
in  Chicago,  in  1893,  in  the  Russian  Govern- 
ment exhibit,  and  would  rate  as  a  high-class 
Arab,  though  not  of  pure  blood,  tracing,  on 
one  side,  to  a  Turkoman  cross.  Mr.  Borden's 
recent  importations,  however,  from  the  Blunts, 
were  all  very  fine  blood,  and  mostly  of  the 
Kehilan  Ajuz  familv. 

[274] 


IMPORTATIONS  OF  ARAB  HORSES 

My  own  importation  reached  America  on 
October  8,  1906,  and  consisted  of  ten  mares 
and  seventeen  stallions.     Two  of  the  stalHons 
belonged  to  C.  A.  Moore,  Jr.,  and  one  to  J. 
H.  Thompson,  Jr.     Another    stalHon   which 
JNIr.  Thompson  bought    in   Beyrout    reached 
America  about  ten  days  after  my  importation, 
and  only  a  few  days  previous  to  the  National 
Horse  Show  in  New  York  City.     He  was  en- 
tered by  Mr.  Thompson  in  the  class  for  sires 
of  polo  ponies,  and  in  competition  with  seven, 
won  third  prize.     This  stallion,  mind  you,  was 
competing  against  thoroughbreds  and  was  at 
a  disadvantage,  being  in  reality  too  large  for 
the  class.     He  was  a  three-year-old  bay,  stand- 
ing fifteen  hands  high. 

James  W.  S.  Langaman  brought  to  Amer- 
ica, in  1903,  a  golden  buckskin  stallion  with 
black  mane  and  tail,  standing  fifteen  hands 
three  inches.  He  came  to  my  farm  from  the 
steamer,  and  remained  there  several  months  be- 
fore being  shipped  to  Governor  Francis,  in 
St.  Louis,  at  the  opening  of  the  World's  Fair. 
Mr.  Langaman  at  that  time  returned  to 
Morocco  and  came  back  with  six  scrubs,  the 
rankest  mongrels  that  ever  crossed  the  ocean. 
He  purchased  them  at  Tangiers,  possibly  pay- 

[275] 


MY  QUEST  OF  THE  ARAB  HORSE 

ing  $30  for  the  highest-priced  one.  He  tried  to 
palm  them  off  as  Arab  horses,  and  gained  a 
lot  of  newspaper  notoriety  through  his  efforts 
to  present  them  to  the  President  of  the 
United  States,  claiming  that  they  had  been 
sent  bv  the  Sultan  of  Morocco.  The  horses 
were,  of  course,  refused,  and  were  later  sold 
at  a  foreclosure  sale  at  the  American  Horse 
Exchange,  where  one  brought  the  remarkable 
price  of  $120.00.  They  were  all  foundered 
and  otherwise  crippled. 

From  such  specimens  as  these,  and  the  big- 
flanked  spotted  circus  horses,  the  Arab  horse 
has  suffered  much  injustice.  If  he  recovers 
from  this  it  will  have  to  be  by  his  own  efforts. 
In  exploiting  the  Arab  horse,  I  shall  not  go 
beyond  their  ability  to  carry  out  promises  for 
them. 


Tamam 


[276] 


Webster  Family  Library  of  Veterinary  Medicine 

Cummings  Schooi  of  ymm^y  Medicine  at 
Tufts  Unjversriy 
200  Westboro  Road 
North  Grafton,  MA  01536 


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